


midnight on a moonless night

by AccursedSpatula



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: 26!Ignis, 27!Gladio, Alternate Canon, Awkward First Times, Camping, Emotional Trauma, F/M, Fix-It, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, M/M, Near Death Experiences, Road Trips, Secret Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-10
Updated: 2018-05-26
Packaged: 2019-02-12 21:37:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 49,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12968907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AccursedSpatula/pseuds/AccursedSpatula
Summary: “To Noct,” Ignis said, raising his glass, “and to Lady Luna.”“To Noct and Luna,” Prompto echoed, and Gladio dipped his head in acknowledgement. Noctis watched the three of them knock back their glasses, toasting him, and hesitated, raising his glass to his lips.Was this the last night they’d all be together like this?Was this his last night of normalcy?Noctis tipped his flute back in one go.A fix-it where Noctis throws on some DMX and decides to punch some gods in the shins rather than accept his fate lying down.Tags and rating will be updated to reflect content.





	1. Noctis

**Author's Note:**

> [midnight on a moonless night.](https://youtu.be/5PcoMrwEa5o?t=1m27s)
> 
> beta read by [sordes.](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes)

Noctis had always hated his dad’s classic.

Firstoff, she was an _ugly_ car. Noctis had known that from the moment he first laid eyes on the Regalia at the wizened age of five, carried out to the car by none other than Regis himself. Her hood was long and wide, squared off in a bull nose, with a grille that was far too ornate laid into a boxy bumper. The trunk bowed out, couldn’t even match the angular front end, the turn signals reduced to two useless strips on either side. She was part luxury sedan and part high performance sports car, with a dash of muscle car thrown in, and Noctis reasoned that they had taken the worst bits of each category and stuck them together.

Secondly, she drove about as well as she looked, at least in Noctis’ opinion. Her length did her no favors, and although her turn radius seemingly defied physics and was surprisingly tight, the car’s uneven length distribution made turns awkward, her front wheels anchored far too close to the bumper. Her engine was in the front, too, making the car front wheel drive, and Noctis had looked down her hood many a time and realized it was just the engine car to a train, providing all the power to simply _pull_ what lay behind it. Rear wheel would have given him better control and more power, but her ungainly front end would’ve never handled it.

Third, the car was a manual, but not a true manual, no, she had paddle shifters mounted into the wheel, for just that last little bit of ‘fuck you’. Paddle shifters put the Regalia squarely in the territory between the convenience of an automatic and the enjoyment of a real manual, shifting with a clutch and gearshift. Instead, all Noctis got the annoyance of having to shift with none of the satisfaction that came from gripping the head of a gearshift and punching the clutch.

And last, but certainly not least, Noctis hated his dad a bit for naming her the _Regalia._ It was so... ostentatious? Obnoxious? _Stupid?_ All of the above? To Noctis, it was the equivalent of naming his car the Nocturne; why would he ever want to name anything after himself, let alone something as ungainly as the Regalia?

But regardless of Noctis’ feelings on the matter, the Regalia had nonetheless passed from father to son, the latter of whom was currently very slowly trying to back her into a parallel parking space.

Twisted around, Noctis had his right arm braced on the passenger seat, left on the wheel, staring out the back window at the rapidly approaching curb and bumper of the car behind him. It was tense, silent save for the steady sound of rain hitting the roof and the occasional snort of disapproval from Ignis in the passenger seat. He was going to miss again, going to clip the curb with the stupid nose of this stupid car still hanging out, and then he’d have to _pull forward again,_ line up, put it in reverse, cut the wheel --

“It’s not gonna fit,” Noctis said. “The spot’s too small.”

“Nonsense,” Ignis replied. “Cut the wheel.”

“I _am_ cutting it!” He continued inching back, working the brake, on, off, on off, until they touched the curb with a firm _bump._.

_Fuck this car._

It wasn’t even a car, it was a barge that had somehow gotten wheels stuck to it. Honestly, a barge probably handled better than --

“Get out,” Ignis said quietly. “I’ll do it.”

“She’s not going to fit.”

“She will.” Ignis was clearly confident in this fact, opening his door and stepping out with no regard for the rain. Noct twisted around again, felt for his umbrella on the back seat, undoing the clasp keeping it bound together as he pulled the handle on the door. As fluidly as he could, which really wasn’t very smoothly at all, he opened the door and the umbrella in sync, trying to shield himself from the rain as he half-fell, half stepped out of the car.

Ignis pulled the door the rest of the way open for him, ushering Noctis out of the way as he sat down and shut the door behind him. Noctis settled his umbrella on his shoulder, meandering around the rear of the Regalia to the curb as Ignis put her into gear. Noctis stepped over the torrent of water rushing down the gutter, climbing up the curb and turning around to watch Ignis pull forward in the car, line up next to the car that had been in front of him. The rear lights on the Regalia flashed, in reverse now, and Ignis turned around inside the car, one black-gloved hand still on the wheel.

With practiced ease, he cut the wheel, gracefully guiding the Regalia backwards, turning her into the spot. Noctis cringed slightly, waiting for that back wheel to scrape the curb just like he had, but no, Ignis was too good for that ( _and fuck him for that, honestly_ ), clearing the curb by a few inches, swinging the front wheels in. He put it back in drive, evened out the spacing between himself and his neighbors, and then put her in park, turning off the car.

Well, he was right -- she _had_ fit.

But it had taken some sorcery to get her in there, some kind of black magic that Noctis didn’t have access to.

A second later, Ignis had hopped out of the car, shutting the door and jogging around the hood to Noctis and his umbrella. Noctis raised it a bit to accommodate him, Ignis handing over the keys as Noctis leaned the umbrella over the both of them.

“Looks like she fit,” Ignis said, teasing, but not genuinely spiteful.

Noctis couldn’t really begrudge him the humblebrag. He had gotten the car in that space, and with ease. “Just barely,” Noctis replied, pocketing the keys. “Might need a stick of butter to get her out.”

“I’m sure you’re up to the challenge.” Ignis combed his fingers through his wet hair, proceeding towards the offices they’d parked outside of.

Noctis hummed his skepticism. “You got her in there, you can get her out,” he retorted as they stepped under the awning. Ignis reached for the door as Noctis shook out the umbrella, collapsing it and coiling the strap back around, refastening the snap. He slotted it in the rack outside the door, half full with dripping umbrellas.

He stepped into the foyer, Ignis following him, wicking some of the water off his jacket as Noctis beelined for the elevators. He skimmed over the directory mounted between them -- _remember, fourth floor_ \-- and then pressed the call button, chewing the inside of the corner of his mouth as he waited, distracted not by one thought in particular but by all of them, by the cacophony of things floating around between his ears, all capped off by his lovely inability to park the Regalia a few minutes prior.

The ding of the elevator doors caught him off guard, and Ignis moved past him, stepping inside and throwing one arm back to hold the doors open as Noctis followed, turning to press the button for four.

“Everything all right?” Ignis asked, and Noctis cursed himself for telegraphing so much.

“Yeah,” he replied. “Just nervous.” He glanced at Ignis from over his shoulder. “It’s stupid, don’t worry.”

Ignis cocked a brow. Noctis knew that look, the silent demand for more information, and knew if he didn’t offer it Ignis would continually pester him, a dog gently gnawing on a bone it refused to give up.

“It’s just a suit, right? Not like I’m going to have to wear it every day for the rest of my life.”

“It’s perfectly normal to have apprehensions about this, Noct,” Ignis said, his tone surprisingly soft despite the clinical nature of his words. “There’s quite a lot that’s about to be upended in your life.”

“I know.” Noctis blinked a few times, tried to clear his thoughts. “But it’s not like worrying about it is going to change anything. I don’t... really have a choice in any of this.”

“You’re right, worrying won’t do you any good.” Ignis plucked his glasses off his face, reaching inside his jacket pocket to find his handkerchief. He threw it over the lenses, pinching them between forefinger and thumb, wiping the rainwater off with short strokes of his fingers. “And I know just how... terrifying it is to have your fate decided for you by those around you, without any kind of say in the matter. So I know it rings hollow to ask you to trust the decisions of your father and everyone else, and to make the best of things.”

He paused, inspected the lenses of his glasses before deeming them acceptable, stuffing the handkerchief back in his pocket as he replaced them on his face. “Just remember that you’ll have Luna at your side, along with Gladio and myself.”

“Yeah,” Noctis mumbled. “Thanks.”

Ignis gave him one of those sad little pinched half-smiles, the kind that really meant _Sorry I don’t have better advice._ They had grown increasingly frequent in the last few months.

The elevator stopped, doors opening on four, and Noctis stepped off, leaving his thoughts in the lift.

\---

Thirty five minutes later, he was standing on a pedestal, looking at five copies of himself, spread out in the mirrors before him. The suit did fit well, much better than it had last time, Noctis noted, twisting to see just how the jacket lay against his side. It was a classic two button black tie number, taken in at the waist just a bit to emphasize his shoulders, the tails short to accommodate for his stature.

He straightened up, faced forward, into the center mirror, adjusting the jacket so it sat flat, pinching the lapels and doing a little wiggle to smooth out the back. He frowned at his reflection─from the neck down, he was sleek, slim, looked like he belonged in the suit, and then from the neck up, there he was, baby faced blue eyed Noctis Lucis Caelum, a man of twenty years whom had somehow avoided puberty this whole time.

He was about to open his mouth and comment on that fact when Ignis spoke up from beside him.

“You look rather dashing,” he said, and Noctis shut his eyes at the phrasing. For someone who was such a carefully planner about everything, sometimes Ignis just didn’t think his word choice through.

“Am I going to have to peek under that veil to make sure I’m marrying the right blond?” Noctis teased.

Ignis gave him a flat look through the mirror. “I’ve already been officially saddled with you; I don’t think we need a ceremony to further celebrate that fact.”

“You sure? We can keep it small. Family, close friends only, just a little reception.” He brushed down one of the sleeves.

“Then I’ll leave all the details to you,” Ignis commented. “For now I’m going to have a word with the tailor.”

“Take your time.” Noctis returned to staring at his reflection. He shook out the arms of the suit, squared his shoulders, and stood up tall. Better. Not perfect yet. Frowning, he raked his fingers through his hair, pushed it back. There. His face looked less round, and when he squared his jaw, he just barely tipped over the line between ‘boy’ and ‘man.’

He sighed, furrowing his brows, and shoved his hands into his pockets, hair falling back into his face. _Sorry, Luna,_ he thought to himself. _This is the Noct you get after all these years._

_\---_

“Noctis?”

“Hm?” Noctis perked up, pulled himself from the fog of his thoughts and refocused. “Sorry, I got... distracted.”

Briefly he flicked his gaze around the room, taking quick stock of his father’s office. Although it was by no means tawdry or spartan, it was never as grand of a room as Noctis expected. Perhaps his childhood memories of splendor were exaggerated, viewed through a lens of innocence and wonder, but in the latter half of his life Noctis had come to view the Citadel as more office than palace.

Massive bookshelves, the ornate desk, the sofas seated around the dark wood table his father used for informal meetings, like the one he was holding with his son currently─it felt like the office of an executive, not the private study of a king. But maybe that was the place of royalty in this day and age, he mused, not to act as ruler but to function as COO.

His father chuckled, leaning forward in his seat. “I asked how you thought your last history exam went.”

“Oh.” Noctis brushed his hair from his eyes, although it immediately fell back into place. Should he get it cut before the wedding? He still had time─

_Stop._

“I think it went all right. I was kind of fuzzy on the annexation of Accordo but there didn’t seem to be too many questions on it, so... here’s hoping?” He punctuated the sentence with a shrug.

His father looked stern for just a second, but it softened away into a light chuckle. “Who needs Accordo, anyway?” he said, reclining once more in his chair.

Noctis let out a nervous laugh, making eye contact with his father for a second before dropping his gaze. He rested his elbows on his knees, hunched slightly forward.

“Lady Luna arrived in the city today,” his father said, reaching for his cane, one hand lightly resting on the head of it. “Have you spoken to her?”

“She did?” Noctis couldn’t keep the surprise and excitement out of his voice. “I mean, I-I didn’t know. And no, I didn’t talk to her.” After a beat, he added, “She doesn’t... have a phone or anything.”

_We just kind of passed this book back and forth for a decade, we never really got the hang of texting or anything on account of her being a political prisoner._

“No matter,” his father said, examining the cast head of the cane. “She’ll be at the rehearsal tomorrow.”

Noctis’ stomach did a little flip-flop. Somehow he hadn’t really expected to see Luna until she was standing across from him at the altar. He’d seen photos of her, of course, ones they had swapped and ones from the press, , knew she had grown up into a graceful blonde beauty with bright eyes, but sometimes it was hard to reconcile that with the Luna he knew, the Luna from her letters, the Luna in his mind.

“Oh, cool,” he said softly.

A soft knock at the door alerted them both, and Noctis stood, ready to get the door, but a moment later it half swung open, and Ignis partially stepped inside, hand still on the knob.

“Your Majesty,” he said, addressing Regis, before turning briefly to Noctis to quickly dip his head. “Highness.” He refocused, scrunching his nose to push his glasses up. “You have the meeting with the Chancellor in fifteen minutes.”

“Thank you,” came the reply, and Noctis looked at his father for a second, trying to hide his disappointment. Ignis was about to bow out, already stepping backwards to shut the door, when Regis cleared his throat.

“Ignis?” he asked, and of course Ignis stepped back in, back ramrod straight as he stood against the door.

“Yes, Your Majesty?”

“Do you suppose you could attend in my stead, accompanied by Clarus, or would that upset the man too greatly? I’d rather spend the time with my son before his wedding.”

Ignis paused before answering. “I think given the circumstances he wouldn’t be put off by it,” he answered, and Noctis could hear the honesty in his voice.

“Good.” Regis flashed a smile, first to Ignis, and then looked at Noctis, who gave his dad a quick thumbs-up. “You can brief me later this afternoon.”

Ignis nodded his understanding. “Certainly.” He dipped his head again, and then finally stepped back and pulled the door closed.

“Thanks,” Noctis said, once it had clicked shut.

Regis gave a half-shrug, both hands folded on the top of his cane now. “I’ve never liked the man. You’re much more pleasant company than Chancellor _Izunia_ anyway.” His father’s dislike was certainly evident in how he emphasized the man’s name.

“I mean, I am related to you, last time I checked. I think you’re kind of stuck with me regardless.”

Regis snorted, the comment having caught him off guard. Noctis grinned, not cheekily but genuine, relieved to see a fraction of the weight come off his father’s shoulders. As much as Noctis felt stress about the wedding and everything going on, he knew his father felt it a hundred times worse, and had dealt with these pressures for longer than his reign. The toll it had taken on him was obvious, and it pained Noctis every time he saw the leg brace, realized how much his father had slowed down over the recent years, how he depended on his cane and those around him. The Wall and their safety came at a price, one that his father had been solely left to pay.

“I, uh, I had a question,” Noctis asked, breaking the silence that had settled between the two, “abou

His father cocked an eyebrow, and _wow_ , Noctis wondered just what Regis was expecting him to ask, because judging from his expression it was far worse than what Noctis had in mind. Did his dad have Ignis poised on the other side of that door, ready with all kinds of anatomical charts in hand?

“It’s not bad,” he added, mostly for his own sanity. “It’s just... I know we’re coming back to Insomnia, but nobody’s really told me what’s going to happen after that. Like, what, do I just get to pack up and head to university in the fall, or are we going to be required to be around here? I mean, does Luna even have to stay here all the time?”

His father chuckled softly, not condescending, looking at Noctis with a patient smile. “There are arrangements for a shared apartment for the two of you, yes. And you will be expected to take a more active role with the Council after the wedding. But that’s hardly any reason to impede your studies.” After a moment he added, “Ruling is still a long ways off for you yet.” Regis shifted his grip on the cane, and Noctis glimpsed the black ring on his finger. _The Ring of the Lucii, his birthright, conduit of his family’s power for a hundred and fourteen generations._

_Great._

“And in regards to Lady Luna, well, she will be in our care and our custody, but I see no reason to trap her here like a bird in a gilded cage. So long as the proper precautions are taken in regards to her safety I would encourage her, should she wish to travel or take up a cause.”

_Shit, really? It was that easy?_

“Thank you,” Noctis said, exhaling the remainder of his anxieties on the issue. It was done and settled. His father smiled warmly.

How badly could the rest of this go?

_\---_

For every ounce that Ignis frustrated Noctis’ intellect, everything from the neck up, especially all that hot air trapped between his ears, Gladio frustrated his physicality, all the rest from the neck down, his gangly limbs and scrawny build, his relatively short stature and limited reach, his lack of definition and reflexes. There was really nothing quite like getting thrown across the floor to just _drive that point home_ to Noctis, that no matter how much he worked, Gladio would always be bigger, be stronger, even be _faster_ (somehow) than him.

Noctis rolled once, skidded a few feet, and then came to a stop, flat on his back, looking at the bluish-purple lights of the gym. He blinked, wheezed, tried to pump air back into his lungs, and then suddenly Gladio was leaning into his frame of vision. Noctis scowled in response.

“You got in too close,” Gladio admitted, extending a hand down to help him up. Noctis took it, against his better judgement. “Had to punish you for it.”

“I have to get in close.” Noctis shook out his wrists. “I have little baby arms.”

“Not _that_ close.” Gladio shook his head. “Look, without weapons, you get too close to me, this turns into a grapple, and I win, because you don’t know positioning or how to throw your weight. So either you stay out of my reach, or you learn to grapple.”

Noctis huffed in frustration. “Or I just run away.”

“Like a coward.”

“Being a coward is the first step to survival,” Noctis shot back, voice oozing sarcasm.

“Hm.” Gladio folded his arms over his chest. “Must’ve missed that in all my manuals.”

Noctis sighed, brushed his hair out of his face. Gladio uncrossed his arms, took a half step back around to face Noctis.

“In all seriousness, do you want to learn something a little better suited to close range? Like a jiu jitsu or something? I can find someone to teach you.” He moved his arms when he talked, gesturing, and Noctis stared at him a beat before laughing.

Gladio joined in after a second, too, Noctis turning away to calm himself down.

“Thoughts?”

“You look really stupid when you wave your arms like that,” Noctis began, “and, yeah, lemme think it over.

Gladio nodded. “All right.” He slicked back his own hair, shook out his left shoulder. “You got one more in you?”

“Only for you,” Noctis replied, turning towards Gladio and squaring up.

Gladio gave him a once over. “Watch your feet. You’re closing off your stance.”

Noctis snorted, brought his feet more even with one another. He barely had time to backstep, Gladio’s fist passing inches from his face as he swung.

“No fair,” Noctis ground out.

“You let yourself get distracted,” Gladio fired back, countering with a low jab with his left fist. That one connected, barely, Noctis turning to his left to avoid it. _Stupid,_ he thought, realizing he’d left his back open to Gladio. Startled, he did the first thing he could think of, which was crouch and turn, dropping to the floor in a little ball.

He heard Gladio “ _Oof,”_ above him as he caught his balance, Noctis using the moment to dart out, twisting towards Gladio. He stepped in as Gladio tried to turn towards him, for _once_ faster than him, and managed to hook an arm around Gladio’s neck, hopping slightly to give himself the proper leverage.

Strung up like this, with Gladio in a headlock, Noctis’ legs dangled above the ground. He knew Gladio would throw him if he wasn’t careful, could already feel his core tensing up to toss Noctis forward, and so he swung his legs up, wrapped them around Gladio’s waist, and locked his ankles at the front. Gladio leaned forward, still determined to shrug him, and Noctis wound his arm tighter around his neck, grasping his opposing elbow with it, his other forearm laid across the back of Gladio’s neck.

Suddenly two large hands were pulling at his arm, and Noctis almost panicked, afraid that Gladio could snap his arm like a twig with one hand. He tensed up further, tightened his hold on both Gladio’s neck and waist, muscles burning with the exertion. And then he could feel Gladio’s relentless pull on his arm, bowing it out and breaking his hold, and Noctis actually _did_ panic. He swung the arm that was pressed on the back of Gladio’s neck to his face, clawing at anything he could get to, determined to distract him via any means necessary.

And then a moment later there were two hands enclosing his ribcage, pulling Noctis off him like he were a delicate butterfly, before throwing him over Gladio’s shoulder and slamming him into the mats on the floor.

“ _Not_ fucking cool,” Gladio snapped, rubbing at his eyes, although Noctis could tell he wasn’t really that angry.

“Sorry.” Noctis coughed a few times, picking up his head to look at Gladio. “But hey, it worked.”

Gladio sniffled, didn’t respond. Noctis dropped his head back against the mats.

“Sorry,” he repeated. “But, you know, rule two of survival is ‘go for the eyes.’”

He saw the telltale jerking of Gladio’s chest before he let the laugh out, low and rumbling, the kind of reluctant laugh at a joke so stupid it shouldn’t be worth his time but had gotten it anyway. “I’ll have to write that one down,” he said, reaching down to offer Noctis a hand.

Noctis hesitated for a second. Was Gladio playing him? Would he take this hand only to get picked up and thrown again as revenge? He narrowed his eyes for a brief second, then reached up, Gladio’s massive hand grasping his forearm and hauling him up like Noctis weighed nothing.

Well, because to Gladio, he probably did.

 _Keep your guard up,_ Noctis reminded himself. Gladio would never seriously hurt him─ _had_ never seriously hurt him─but he would fuck with him to keep him on his toes. He was a guy, guys did that to one another, especially guys like Gladio. To Noctis’ surprise, however, Gladio let him go as soon as he was back on his feet.

“We good?” Noctis asked as Gladio wiped his face off with the hem of his tank top, the shirt pulled up to reveal his defined stomach. Noctis couldn’t help the pang of jealousy that shot through him, coupled with the rush of _Sorry Luna sorry I’m not that jacked sorry I’m not that handsome sorry I’m not that manly─_

_Stop._

“Yeah, we’re good for today.” Gladio smoothed out his shirt. “We can get one in tomorrow, but after that I figure with the wedding prep it’s touch and go, so you can just let me know if you want to head down here.”

That was odd. Gladio had never before put their training on Noctis’ terms; he was older and the expert in this, so Noctis had always dumbly nodded and followed along with what Gladio advised.

“Yeah, uh, sure. Thanks,” he mumbled. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Gladio nodded, taking a few steps before raising his arms and twisting his torso, stretching out his spine. He seemed oblivious to Noctis standing there.

_“...after that I figure with the wedding prep it’s touch and go...”_

Gladio’s words bounced around in Noctis’ head as he moved towards the door. He was right, though. These were the last few days of normalcy he would have─at least, with this baseline of normal. After that, it would be impossible to deny his status, his duties, his title. His relationship with Gladio would suddenly resemble his father’s own with Clarus, Gladio’s father, Ignis would ease into a role similar to Dustin, one of his father’s advisers (and that was a sad thing to think about, Noctis realized, recalling how drab and bland that man was).

And how long had it been since Noctis had treated them just like friends? He was still close to Gladio, but he could sense the seeds of that professional relationship taking hold, Gladio beginning to keep him slightly at a distance. Ignis had pulled away years ago, something Noctis was still bitter about. While on the surface Ignis still appeared friendly, Noctis could no longer approach him strictly as a friend, the way he could when they were children. Now anything Ignis said to him was filtered through his duty as chamberlain and adviser, and Noctis hated it.

“Hey, Gladio,” he said without thinking, Gladio looking over and raising his brows to indicate Noctis had his attention. “I’m gonna go hang out with Prom at the arcade. You... wanna come if you’re not busy?”

_Just come and shoot the shit with me and take my mind off this. Please._

“Is this appeasement for trying to claw my face off?”

“We can call it that.”

Gladio hesitated, tilted his head from side to side. “Eh, yeah, why not? Lemme text Iris, let her know what’s up.”

Noctis gave him a nod of solidarity and Gladio flashed him a thumbs up. “I’ll meet you out front,” Noctis said, turning back towards the doors and continuing out.

“You got it.”

\---

Prompto was _way_ too fucking good at shooting and killing.

Well, at least in digital context, Noctis reasoned. He handled that shitty plastic gun with almost military precision, adjusted himself to the wonky controls of each game within seconds, and Noctis had noticed he even had _trigger discipline_ on a fake gun with zero capacity to actually fire.

And thus it was no surprise that Prompto carried him in every two player gallery they hit, taking care of not only everything on his side of the screen but saving Noctis’ ass whenever necessary. Always with that dumb grin plastered on his face, not quite like Gladio’s, lacking his confidence, instead replacing it with sheer enthusiasm and energy. It seemed like _nothing_ could keep him down, not even getting mauled to death by zombies in _The Longest Night 4_ , all because Noctis was too crappy to keep up with him.

“We’ll get it next time, buddy,” he said, chipper, carefully sliding his gun back into the plastic holster on the console.

Noctis hummed his disbelief. Gladio laughed from behind them.

“Oh, so that’s how it’s gonna be?” Noctis commented, wheeling around. He jerked his head towards Prompto. “You get the next round with him. Let’s see how you hold up.”

“Is that an order, Your Highness?”

“Damn straight.”

Gladio slid past him, took his spot at the console. “Then I guess I can’t refuse.”

To no one’s surprise, he was worse at the game than Noctis, choosing to blame the console and gun (“I’m telling you, it’s _broken._ ”) over his own inability to run and gun in a virtual environment. Prompto carried him part of the way, but at a certain point Gladio became a lost cause, and Prompto decided self-preservation was more important than trying to save his partner. _Smart man._

“What happens in this arcade, stays in this arcade,” Gladio snapped, replacing his gun in the plastic holster on the console.

“Too late,” Noctis chided. “I’ve already texted Iris, Cor, your dad, my dad, Ignis, Dustin, everybody in the Glaive... Sent ‘em this great photo of you shooting with the caption ‘Isn’t nature amazing? Who knew a gorilla could play video games?’” He waved his arm in an arc for emphasis on the last phrase.

“You put your life in the hands of this gorilla,” Gladio replied. “Tread lightly.”

Noctis grinned cheekily. Prompto replaced his gun, joining them.

“Well, now what?” he asked, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Let’s find something he’s not good at,” Gladio suggested, flicking his gaze at Prompto.

“Don’t hate the player, hate the game!” Prompto said, giving a confident half-shrug.

Noctis fished in his pocket for his phone, swiping it open to look at the time. “Could just head back to my place.”

Gladio tilted his head. “I got nowhere to be.”

“I call dibs on shotgun,” Prompto said, flashing Gladio a smile. Even though the Regalia had roomier back seats, fitting six-foot-five Gladio in the back seat of anything was always a sight. He had the ability to make just about anything look like a clown car, stuffed in a seat with his knees at his shoulders.

Noctis pulled his keys out. “Just sit on top of him, Gladio,” he said. “That’ll learn him real quick.”

“Or we could just stuff him in the trunk,” Gladio said, grabbing Prompto’s upper arms and squeezing them to his torso, using the leverage to pick him up with ease. Prompto squawked, legs kicking in the air for a second, looking to Noctis for help with pleading eyes.

Noctis just gave him a half smile and a shrug.

\---

 

“You _sure_ you can back it in?”

“Yes, Prompto, I’m _sure,_ just like I was sure the first two times you asked,” Noctis shot back, still staring in the rearview. He was determined now to make up for his earlier parking failure, determined to master handling this car through sheer force of will, so that maybe Ignis would shut up about his driving skills all the time. It couldn’t be that hard, could it?

This was attempt three, and so far it was going better than the first two, Noctis checking his positioning in his side and rearview mirrors. _Steady, steady..._

“You’ve got another couple feet,” Gladio offered from the back seat, twisted around to look out the rear window.

Noctis kept easing off the brake, continuing to back the car into the spot, keeping the support pillar to the garage on his left. Not so bad. He had this in the bag.

He eased the car back a couple more feet, and then planted his foot firmly on the brake, shifting her into park. _Ha._ He’d done it. It had only taken three tries and a slight scrape on that pillar (one that only mildly bruised Noctis’ ego) to get her in here, but he’d done it.

“Third time’s the charm,” he said, killing the engine and opening his door with confidence.

That was until it smacked into the side of the support pillar.

“Little close there?” Gladio commented. _Not you, too._

“It’s fine,” Noctis said, hellbent on saving face. He could fit. It was just narrow, not impossible.

He swung his leg out, found footing, and then eased up, getting his head out, and turning his body to fit into the tight space. After a bit of wiggling, he got his second leg to follow, and then shuffled clear of the door.

“See? No problem,” he said, closing the door firmly, ignoring the scratch in the paint he could see in his periphery.

But Gladio noticed. Gladio looked right fucking at it, cocked a brow, and then stared at Noctis. But to his credit, he didn’t say anything, not one word, just inhaled sharply and stepped past Noctis towards the elevators.

A short elevator ride later, they were all standing front of Noctis’ door, watching as he fumbled with his keys. _No time like the present,_ Noctis thought to himself, cycling through all the keys on his ring. What did he even have half of these for? His keyring looked like it belonged to a janitor, not a twenty-year old boy.

At last the key was in the lock, the tumblers turning, and then everyone was barreling past him to get inside. Gladio made a beeline for the fridge, heading into the kitchen on the right while Prompto flopped down onto the sofa in the living area, half-draping himself over one of the arms.

“So is this like, your bachelor party?” Prompto asked, pushing a pillow out of the way.

Noctis froze, halfway through pulling his second boot off. _Was it?_

“Oh, shit,” came Gladio’s comment from near the fridge, leaning down and resting his elbows on the island in the center of the kitchen. “Fuck, I guess we did forget to plan you something. In that case, time to get you wasted and take you to a strip club.”

Prompto picked up his head at that suggestion. He seemed interested, but the wary gaze he tossed towards Noctis seemed to be waiting for Noctis’ permission before expressing said enthusiasm.

“I would... rather stay here,” Noctis said, and he could hear the cracking sound as Prompto’s hopes dashed on the rocks of Noctis’ words. “Just hang out with you guys and we can have Iggy come over and cook for us.”

Gladio shrugged. “Fine by me.” He straightened up slightly as Noctis approached the counter, phone in hand. “Hey, yeah, why didn’t Iggy plan something for you? That’s his deal, isn’t it?”

“I dunno, does Ignis seem like the bachelor party type to you? I doubt he would want to ‘encourage that kind of sordid behavior in His Highness,’” Prompto said, using finger quotes for heavy emphasis, voice slipping into his delightful mock accent. “He’d have us eating finger sandwiches with cucumbers in them.”

Gladio laughed as Noctis finished dialing his phone, switching the speaker on and setting it on the island between himself and Gladio. He held his finger to his lips, in a _shhh_ gesture, and Gladio gave a quick nod.

It rang, once, twice, and then just before the third ring, there was a sharp, _“Yes?_ ”

“Hey, Iggy.”

“Mhm.”

“What’re you up to?”

“Currently preoccupied with a few things for His Majesty.”

“Are they important things?”

“They’re always important things, Noct,” came the reply, not curt, just tired. “Why?”

“You wanna come over and cook for us?”

“I─” He broke off, accompanied by a bit of static and the sound of papers rustling. “Who is this ‘us’?”

“Me, Prompto, Gladio. The ushe.” Noctis cocked a brow as Gladio turned around, hunting around in Noctis’ cabinets.

Ignis inhaled deeply and sighed into the line. “I really...” he trailed off, followed by more rustling. Noctis knew he would come, regardless, but now it was time to twist the knife a little bit.

“Hey, Iggy, if you don’t we’re just going to order piles of take out. Like, pizza, barbeque, all of it.”

There was the rest of the sigh.

“No, don’t... do that. Can you give me thirty-five minutes? I’m downtown at the moment, need to get my things together before I can head out.”

“Sure, but if any of us dies of starvation it’s on you.” Noctis tilted his head, watching as Gladio set three glasses down on the island, mouthing a _What are you doing?_ in response. Gladio tipped an imaginary drink back into his mouth, and Noctis understood, pointing to a cabinet on the bottom right. Gladio, ever one to follow orders, immediately began searching it.

“However will I cope with the guilt?” came the flat reply. “Any requests in regards to the menu?”

“Surprise me. It’s my bachelor party.” Noctis tossed Gladio a thumbs up as Gladio set down the half full bottle of whiskey Noctis kept there, as a not-so-secret secret from Ignis. He unscrewed the bottle and started pouring.

A long beat of silence followed. Noctis knew Ignis was mentally kicking himself for not at least organizing something, and that there would be an apology (and hopefully an apology cake) incoming. “I’ll be there soon. Contain yourselves until then.”

“Can do.” Noctis swiped the phone, ending the call. He spun it on the counter, staring at the screen. Behind him, he heard Prompto pad up to the counter, Gladio scooting one of the glasses toward him, his own already in hand.

 “You heard the man.” Gladio nudged the last glass towards Noctis. He picked it up, swirled the liquid around, and then tossed it back.

\---

An hour later, they were in full swing of things, however ‘full’ that might’ve been with only four of them. Ignis had been wrong─it had taken him exactly _forty-two_ minutes to arrive, Gladio opening the door with a loud cry of, “The stripper’s here!” which garnered a quiet sigh and a toothless threat from Ignis to return home, food in hand.

Prompto took to teasing him about his seven minute delay, but despite his ‘late’ arrival Ignis had swiftly set up camp in Noctis’ kitchen, which was decidedly familiar territory. In fact, Noctis felt it almost a bit wrong to even call it his kitchen; Noctis’ only real claim to it was the occasional midnight snack of cereal.

He’d come with steaks in hand, something that made the light flicker in Gladio’s eyes, and although there was no apology cake _yet,_ he’d brought along a bag of baker’s chocolate and a promise of _after dinner._

Roasted potatoes and asparagus were supposed to round out their plates, much to Noctis’ mild dismay, but he supposed he could choke them down to make Ignis happy one last time. As the steaks were searing in the pan, Gladio keeping a watchful eye on them after he’d subtly asked Ignis if he knew what he was doing. Ignis, meanwhile, cleared out the remaining contents of the shopping bag he’d brought with, plopping a dark green, gold foil wrapped bottle of champagne squarely on the island.

“Since you’re so quick to remind me of my tardiness, Prompto,” Ignis said, ripping the foil off, and undoing the wire cage, “you should know that those extra seven minutes were spent waiting for this to finish in the chiller.” He held up the bottle at the neck for emphasis.

The wire cage was torn free, and then Ignis reached back over to to the cutting board, where he’d left the chef’s knife he’d been using. “Glasses?” he asked, returning to the island.

“Right here,” Noctis offered, setting four champagne flutes in a row in front of him. Ignis moved his hold lower on the bottle, grasping it at the body, tilting the neck away from him, knife at the ready.

“You’re gonna saber that?” Gladio asked, possibly out of concern for their safety, but more likely out of concern that the steaks would burn in the resulting commotion.

“Where’s the harm in a little showmanship?” he returned, knife pressed to the bottle, blade edge angled toward the neck. And then, in one smooth, practiced motion, he ran it up the neck of the bottle, cracking off the lip with the cork still inside. The champagne bubbled over, spilling over his fingers and onto the island, not fazing him in the slightest as he reached for a glass and quickly began to pour.

All four were poured in a matter of moments, the bottle set in a dry spot on the counter, and then Ignis flipped the steaks and wiped down the rest of the island before placing the glasses before the other three of them, now all gathered around the counter like generals at a war table.

“To Noct,” Ignis said, raising his glass, “and to Lady Luna.”

“To Noct and Luna,” Prompto echoed, and Gladio dipped his head in acknowledgement. Noctis watched the three of them knock back their glasses, toasting him, and hesitated, raising his glass to his lips.

Was this the last night they’d all be together like this?

Was this his last night of normalcy?

Noctis tipped his flute back in one go.

\---

“Ignis! I _trusted_ you!”

Prompto’s shrill protest was accompanied by him begrudgingly snapping up several cards from the pile at the center of the table, scowling as he did so.

“And what a fool you were,” Ignis replied, sorting through his own hand. He didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest.

“I think Iggy’s counting cards again,” Gladio commented, not looking up from his own hand.

“Innocent until proven guilty.” Ignis set his cards down on the table in a neat face-down pile, trading them for the highlighter once more.

“Better hope you have a good lawyer,” Noctis chimed in, sifting through his hand. _Ah, yes, there._ He delicately plucked a card from his hand, laying it down on the pile.

“Aw, man, not you too!” Prompto frowned beside him, realizing that Noctis had just reversed their order of play once more. All Noctis had to offer in response was a cheeky grin and a gesture towards the pile at the center of the table. Prompto sighed, but reached forward, reluctantly drawing his set of cards.

“There aren’t any card games where the winner has to strip, right? Might be the only way to get Iggy to belly up to his job duties for tonight.” Gladio gave a little half shrug, complete with his signature shit-eating grin, sneaking a wry glance at Ignis.

“Gladio, you couldn’t afford me even if you tried,” Ignis replied, not even looking up from his papers. “I’ve seen firsthand how you tip.”   

Gladio would go on to take that round, mostly because Ignis wasn’t really playing, more focused on the dossiers he’d brought with him and checking in on the apology cake (“You’re supposed to jump out of the cake, not bake it, you know,” Gladio was quick to remind him. “That’s what the _good_ strippers do.”). He’d snap to when his turn came, toss a card out, and then continue reading where he left off, but that was about the level of his involvement at this point in the evening.

The apology cake was indeed served, and it was more than delicious—a spin on red velvet with a vanilla icing that Ignis had thrown together once he found some white chocolate Noctis had squirreled away. After that they disbanded, at first talking in the living room, seated around the L-shaped sofa, until Ignis slowly began eeking them out of territory, papers spread out around him.

Eventually the three of them migrated back to the kitchen, polishing off the whiskey while Prompto picked at a second slice of cake, moving the plate a bit in Noctis’ direction with every bite he took, a hint that Noctis should maybe _be a pal_ and help him out.

“That’s all yours, bud,” Noctis said, when it was clear the plate had been pushed into his territory. “And you’d better not let Iggy see you throw it out, isn’t that─” He cut himself off, peering past Prompto to glance at Ignis in the living room.

“Down for the count,” Gladio mused, gaze following Noctis’ own. “Guess you’re clear to throw out that cake.”

Out on the sofa, Ignis had managed to take over almost all of it before he lost the battle to fatigue, slumped back against the pillows, his head tucked in towards his chest. The highlighter was still nestled between his fingers, a dossier spread out on his lap.

Gladio gestured towards Ignis. “You wanna wake him up? I”ll drive him back.”

“Nah, it’s fine. He does this all the time,” Noctis said, hopping off his own stool and meandering to the back of the couch. Prompto followed, slightly delayed, but it was clear this had been practiced. “Just leave him here. He sleeps like the dead when he’s this tired. He’ll be pissy with us tomorrow for letting him sleep, but usually he’s chewing us out while he makes breakfast for us, so it’s ultimately a win.”

“Really?”

“Yup,” Prompto chimed in, heading to the front of the sofa.

Noctis stopped on the sofa behind Ignis, carefully reaching around to pluck his glasses off his face, folding them in his hand. “See, all we do is very gently tip...” he said, bracing his hands on Ignis’ shoulders, and then carefully started to push him over while Prompto popped a pillow onto the couch beside the arm, just where Ignis’ head hit. Prompto reached down and grabbed Ignis’ gangly legs, putting them up on the sofa while Noctis retrieved a throw from one of the armchairs, unfolding it.

He casually draped it over Ignis, tucking it down over his shoulders. “And then cover him and he’s good.” He set Ignis’ glasses down on the coffee table beside him.

Gladio hadn’t really heard a word of it, preoccupied with staring at his phone. “I gotta... take this, guys,” he said, mind clearly elsewhere as he quickly walked over to the foyer, yanking the door open before he stepped into the hallway.

It was quiet now, the only sounds the hum of the refrigerator and the occasional muffled sigh from Ignis. Noctis almost startled at the sound of the tap, cutting through the silence like a freight train, but it was just Prompto, filling up two glasses of water.

He returned to his perch at the island, setting the other glass at the edge near Noctis, who meandered to it, grabbing the nearest barstool and climbing up on it.

“You think he’s coming back?” Prompto asked, jerking a thumb over his shoulder at the door.

“He left his shoes here, so... all signs point to yes.” Noctis shrugged. “Gladio usually doesn’t frown at a booty call, either. _Usually._ ”

A long beat of silence settled between them, blanketing the room. Briefly Noctis wondered what had spooked Gladio like that, his mouth unwillingly twisting into a slight frown. He sighed, shook the thoughts from his mind, convinced himself it was nothing, probably just a clingy former one night stand that Gladio was finally cornered into dealing with.

“So, be honest with me,” Prompto said, staring at his own reflection in the small surface of his water glass, “...are you _really_ excited for the wedding?”

Noctis shrugged. “Yes? No?” He sighed. “I want to see Luna, but that’s... that’s literally it. I don’t want anything to do with the rest.”

“Really?”

“Um, yeah? I can barely keep this place _kinda_ clean and turn my homework in on time. I don’t wanna... run a fucking country.”

“Just make Ignis do it.”

Noctis laughed into his glass. “He’s basically gonna do it anyway.” He cast a glance over towards the couch. “I’ll have to make sure we get a comfy sofa in the royal suites.”

There was a long pause between them, Prompto idly tracing the bottom of his glass on the counter. He was tired, Noctis knew, they all were, but there was something a little off about him now, something that had been a little off since the start of the evening.

“Everything ok?” Noctis asked, figuring it was better to rip the bandage off now.

Prompto’s brow pursed, his mouth opening just a fraction, but he didn’t answer immediately, and Noctis waited while he put his words together. “Tomorrow morning’s the last time I’m gonna see you, isn’t it? Y’know, like... this? Like friends?”

“What? No. _No._ ”

“I mean, yeah? I’m not royalty, I’m not special like four eyes and meat shield, I’m just, y’know, your after-school buddy.” He shrugged.

“It’s not like I’m _dying─_ ” Noctis protested.

“I mean, it is a little bit,” Prompto countered. “Sorry. That kinda came out wrong.” He shook his head, hopping off the stool and sauntering past Noctis, to where he’d left his bag at the foot of the sofa.

Prompto rifled through the bag for a moment while Noctis tried to string together a sentence in his head, going through all of the future possibilities he would have once the wedding was all said and done.

“Anyway,” Prompto said, voice low, but still cutting through the silence in the apartment like a buzz saw, “I got you a little something as like, a wedding present.” He stood up, turned about face, shoving something behind his back. “I hope this isn’t too weird.”

Noctis didn’t say anything as Prompto approached, unwinding his arms from behind his back to reveal a thick, leather bound book, with gold embossing around the edges and down the spine.

“I know it’s kind of old-fashioned, and a little stupid, but,” Prompto began, setting the book in front of Noctis, “I wanted you to have something... real, I guess. I know you can go online and they’re all there but it’s just not the same. So.” He flipped the cover open to punctuate his sentence.

Noctis pulled his gaze from Prompto’s face to the cream colored first page of the book. Mounted dead center under a glossy cover was a bright color photograph, a glossy print of a selfie Prompto had taken of the two of them just after their midterm exams this semester. Noctis ran his fingers over the photo, and then flipped the page, finding eight more laid out over the two pages in two neat rows of four.

It was pictures of all of them, in varying combinations. Prompto and Noctis from their last school camping trip. Gladio mussing up Noctis’ hair outside the gym. Noctis, trying to decipher a map as he turned away from Ignis─that was the time he’d gotten them lost heading down to Galdin Quay.

Regis, standing beside a younger Noctis, admiring the Regalia.

“How did you...?” Noctis began, trailing off as his gaze flitted from shot to shot.

“I had help. Gladio and Ignis gave me some, and Ignis got me some of the ones when you were a kid.” Prompto raked his fingers through his hair. “So it’s kinda from all of us.”

“It’s...” Noctis paused, biting the corner of his mouth. “It’s awesome.” He didn’t have other words for it right now, couldn’t convey how the gesture had piqued up a rush of melancholy in him, even though he knew that wasn’t Prompto’s intent at all. Looking at the photos of all of them brought the better times to the front of his mind, but suddenly he was all too aware of how quickly those were about to be over.

“Really?”

Noctis nodded. Prompto always needed the validation, he’d noted. Sometimes annoying, certainly not now.

“I, uh, left a couple of mountings here,” he said, flipping through the book and showing off two pages, with blank holders and sleeves, “for the wedding. You can stick a couple in there.”

“Yeah, for sure.” He grinned, eyeing Prompto for a moment. “Have to be all the ones you take.”

Prompto tilted his head, turned away in slight embarrassment at the flattery, but Noctis could see him fighting to hold back the smile that threatened to break free on his face.

“And tomorrow,” Noctis continued, “is not going to be the last time I see you. Not by a longshot. I’ll make Ignis find some kind of technicality so I can drag you to all the boring functions I have to go to. You can... taste my food for poison or something.”

“Well, when you put it that way,” Prompto said, but Noctis could see the tension lifting off his shoulders.

They stood there, for one long awkward beat, until Prompto sucked in a quick breath through his teeth. “I’m gonna go get my stuff together,” he said, turning towards the guest room and stepping past Noctis, who nodded his understanding.

Noctis busied himself with the album in Prompto’s absence, moving from photo to photo, startled at how hard the memories came back to him with each one. He vaguely remembered Ignis explaining something in one of his many offhand lectures (or ‘opportune learning moments’, as he called them) about memory and triggers, about how scent and smells and taste had a particularly strong recall effect, but that visual cues could also prompt recollection.

All the memories evaporated into thin air when Gladio rushed back in, his jaw set, brows drawn in a stern line like Noctis had only seen once or twice before. Something was definitely wrong.

“Where’s Prompto?” Gladio asked, quickly taking stock of the room as he moved over to the back of the sofa.

“Guest bedroom,” Noctis said, shutting the album. “Why?”

“Go grab him and pack your stuff up,” Gladio instructed. “We gotta leave.”

“Gladio, it’s like, two a.m.” Noctis slid off the barstool, taking a few steps toward Gladio, who had reached over to shake Ignis awake at the shoulder.

“I know,” Gladio said, and Noctis heard a twinge of fear in his voice. “That was my dad on the phone. Can you get your stuff and then I’ll tell you just what’s going on?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks.” Gladio turned his full attentions down to Ignis, shaking him harder now, Ignis’ only response coming as a sleepy groan of protest. “I swear by all that’s holy, Scientia, I will dump you off this fucking couch if I have to.”

Noctis left him to it, ducking into the guest bedroom, finding Prompto doing the zip on his back. “Make sure you’ve got everything, ok? Gladio says we’re leaving.”

“Wait, what?”

“Ask him!” Noctis said, backing out of the guest room and turning to bolt into his bedroom and flick on the lights. _Alright. Pack._ How long would he be gone? No idea, so cover the essentials. They’d be coming back, right? Of course, they would have to. Gladio probably just needed to get them away for a short time, until some danger passed, some immediate threat blew over. They’d done ‘drills’ like this before, in case of an emergency, though judging by Gladio’s seriousness Noctis was sure it wasn’t practice this time.

Bring the essentials, then, anything he couldn’t live without or bear to lose. Clothes, then, few shirts, couple pairs of pants, as much underwear as he had on hand. Phone charger, any electronics he would need. Toiletries, anything he couldn’t accept a substitute for.

Having gone through his list in his head, Noctis flew into action, yanking out his usual travel duffel bag from beneath his bed, tossing in things as he went. In a matter of minutes he’d collected everything he deemed important enough to bring, slinging the bag over his shoulder.

Fingers clutched tight around the strap, Noctis rounded the corner back into the living room, slowing to a stop behind the sofa. Prompto was still inside, but both Gladio and Ignis were standing on the balcony, heatedly discussing something with frequent gestures to the skyline.

“You know what’s going on?”

Noctis shook his head no, dumping his bag onto the sofa and walking over to the glass sliding doors that led onto the balcony. He heard the gentle patter of Prompto’s soft footsteps behind him as he grabbed the handle and pulled the door open, making sure it was loud enough to get the attention of the other two outside.

Gladio and Ignis fell silent, both turning to look at him, Ignis pushing his glasses up before turning away.

“Packed?” Gladio asked, looking from Noctis to Prompto.

“Yeah,” Noctis answered, coming to stand between them, hovering near the window while Ignis shifted over to press up against the railing of the balcony to make room for him. “So what’s going on?”

Gladio sighed, stepping back to give Noctis a clearer view of the surrounding city and skyline. “Take a look.”

Noctis stepped between them, up to the railing, and looked towards the skyline. 

“All those red dots you see?” Gladio continued, gesturing out to a few areas in particular. “Those are Imperial dreadnoughts.”

“You don’t think....”

“I don’t think, I know.” Gladio lowered his arm. “That’s what the call was about.”

Panic hit Noctis like a bucket of ice water, sending chills down his skin. “What about my dad? Is he coming with us?”

“He’s with the Glaive and Clarus,” Ignis said. Noctis gripped the railing a little tighter. Knowing that his father was in capable hands didn’t matter when they weren’t together, and Noctis grit his teeth in frustration, staring at all those red lights sprinkled above the skyline, a million demonic eyes in the darkness. He felt nauseous and angry, stomach in knots.

Ignis was the first to turn away, gently patting Noctis on the shoulder to get his attention. “We need to go,” he said, a twinge of concern in his voice. With that, Noctis let himself be pulled away from the balcony, those red lights searing into his field of vision, lingering even after he’d turned away from the sight.


	2. Prompto

Everything was downhill from there.

Noctis was first back inside, walking directly over to the island and snagging the album Prompto had given him moments earlier. He busied himself with getting it into his bag and getting it zipped again while Ignis and Gladio filed in behind him, Ignis heading to the sofa while Gladio went straight for the door.

Prompto was last in, watching the other three at their tasks. Noctis finished up, zipping the bag shut, and Gladio yanked the door open, waving him out. He looked next to Prompto, who hesitated near the sofa, watching Ignis as he started to pull some of the dossiers together, flipping through pages to take what he deemed important. It was clear he was overwhelmed by the task, from how rapidly he was looking from spot to spot on the sofa, because there was just so _much,_ so many _pages,_ and even Prompto felt sensory overload just looking at the sheer number of them.

For a second, Prompto was ready to offer help, but Ignis instead decided to run his hand over the pages to collect as many as he could. They were summarily stuffed into one of the folders they’d come out of, flipping it shut and snagging his briefcase.

Taking one last good look around Noctis’ apartment, wondering how the fuck their evening had gone from a lighthearted affair to _this_ in the space of twenty minutes, Prompto headed towards the door, pulling his boots on and stepping out into the hall, Ignis trailing behind him.

Noctis and Gladio were waiting at the elevator, although Gladio kept shooting impatient glances at the door to the stairs. He herded them onto the elevator the moment the doors opened, taking up his post at the front as they rode the car down to the garage, ready to lead them off as soon as the lift stopped.

Prompto was last out of the elevator, the other three moving with purpose towards the Regalia, parked and waiting. He took a few shuffling steps out of the elevator, wondering if it was even worth it to go any further. He didn’t belong with them─Gladio and Ignis both had well defined roles in Noctis’ life, they had clear functions beside him, they were useful and they had purpose.

Prompto, well...

...well, sometimes he told a pretty good joke, or snapped a nice photo.

Ignis headed straight for the driver’s seat, passing Noctis, who tossed Ignis the keys like the whole thing had been rehearsed, Ignis catching them and looping his index finger into the ring. He pulled open the driver’s side door, Noctis moving behind him to take the back seat on the driver’s side.

“You’re up in front,” Gladio instructed, looking back at Prompto, still hovering a few feet away from the elevators. He pulled open the rear door on the passenger side.

“I’m... going with?” Prompto squawked. He looked straight back at Gladio, who seemed surprised that Prompto had even thought his accompanying them was up for debate, but Gladio’s expression darkened as he turned to Ignis, who had his mouth drawn in a thin line of protest.

“Why the hell wouldn’t you come?” Noctis said, oblivious to the glare Ignis had snuck at Gladio.

“Of course you are,” Gladio said, like there was no other option, like Prompto had been considered in this from the start. Ignis kept silent, apparently biting back his tongue on whatever his reservations were. Noctis had spoken, His Highness had made a decision, and although it was apparent Ignis had reservations, his priorities clearly lay in getting Noctis into the car and out of the city, and an argument was just about the last thing he would want.

Ignis slid into the driver’s seat, and Prompto opened the door, plopping into the passenger seat beside him. He wondered why Gladio had passed up this spot, given the legroom, but when he caught a glimpse of Noctis in the rearview suddenly he understood. Of course the bodyguard would have to stay close to his charge. It would be awkward riding next to Ignis, who didn’t seem to want Prompto in the car, period, but Prompto resolved himself to look out the window and keep his mouth shut. That shouldn’t get him into any trouble.

Prompto had only ridden in the Regalia a couple of times with Ignis at the helm, always in the back seat, relegated to third wheel. Noctis, although his closest friend, was not someone that Prompto would label a ‘good’ or ‘safe’ driver, and sometimes a jaunt in the Regalia would leave him feeling weak in the knees. But Ignis--Ignis did everything by the book, the kind of guy who signaled for every turn, even on a deserted road in the middle of the night.

And so, despite the fact that Ignis had wanted to abandon him about forty seconds prior, Prompto did feel a little safer with him behind the wheel.

He glued himself to the window as Ignis pulled out of the garage, overtaken by the city lights the way he always was. He’d grown up in Insomnia, yet the city never failed to amaze him, catching him off guard with her beauty in moments even like this.  His gaze skipped higher, higher, until he saw red lights, almost everywhere now, including directly above them.

“Goddamn,” Gladio said from the back seat, and Prompto could see in the rearview that he was twisted around to look out the back window. Noctis was the same.

Ignis was trying to keep his eyes on the road, but couldn’t resist stealing a long glance, leaning forward onto the dash to look up out the windshield.

“Those fuckers move fast,” Gladio commented, voice clipped, and in the rearview Prompto could see his brows pushed together in frustration.

Ignis hummed in agreement.

Prompto turned himself fully to the side, pressed up against the window, watching those lights drift above the city. Occasionally through the clouds and the haze he could see the outline of a hull, ribbed in parts, lined with smaller white lights. They were haunting, drifting in the sky, black, unnatural shapes that weaved between the clouds.

“Prompto, I can’t see out the window when you sit like that,” Ignis said, and Prompto instantly flopped back down into his seat.

“Sorry.” He looked over at Ignis, possibly for forgiveness, but found Ignis focused instead on the road signs and traffic in front of him, brows drawn in frustration. He flicked the blinker up, and then abruptly cut the wheel, sliding over into the right hand-lane. It was the dead of night, so there wasn’t much traffic, but a city this large never truly slept, and the streets were hardly what Prompto could safely call empty. Glancing at the sidewalks, he caught sight of a few passersby standing in a group, staring up at the sky, no doubt worrying over the same sight they were.

“You’re taking 90?” came Gladio’s voice from the back seat. “The junction’s down to one lane because of construction--”

Gladio was cut off by the high whine of something hurtling to the road behind them, followed by the deafening sound of an explosion, one that rattled all of the windows and shook Prompto at his core, the inside of the Regalia briefly illuminated in yellows and oranges from the ensuing fireball.

“Holy shit,” Noctis sputtered, the words leaving him in a nervous rush. Prompto thought that was a bit of an understatement.

“Yeah, let’s go with 90.” Gladio had thrown an arm across Noctis’ chest to keep him in place.

Ignis glanced in the rearview, from Noctis to Gladio, and then turned his head to look at Prompto from the corner of his eye.

“Seatbelt,” came the reminder.

_Oh, shit._

Prompto reached up, grabbed the end of the belt and pulled it down over him, buckling it in just as Ignis shifted the car into fifth gear and hit the gas. Instantly Prompto was pressed back into the seat by the acceleration, remembering just how much power the Regalia had at her disposal.

Ignis cut the wheel a moment later, crossed two lanes of traffic, rather smoothly given his speed, glancing in his sideview mirrors. Another flash lit up the inside of the car, this one off a block ahead on the opposing side of the street.

Suddenly there seemed to be three times as many vehicles on the street, and Prompto realized that now everyone had gotten the memo, everyone had realized just what was going on. The sidewalks were now a mess of panicked pedestrians, their nights out now thrown into chaos, streaming from apartment buildings, clubs, and restaurants alike. He could hear the occasional scream and shout as they whipped by, mixed in with the rumble of explosions in the distance.

Prompto shifted over slightly, watching the needle climb higher, until they were easily doing seventy on a surface street, the engine whining as it revved higher. Traffic was largely nonexistent because of the hour, but Prompto’s heart still leapt into his throat as Ignis changed lanes to blow by a black coupe, cutting back into the left lane the moment they’d cleared the car. Evidently it was a bit too close for the coupe’s comfort if the ensuing blast of a horn was anything to go by.

Prompto turned to look back out his window, remembering to stay back so as not to obstruct any views, watching the city lights whip by, occasionally able to make out some of the lurking shapes of the dreadnoughts between the high-rises. Another shockwave hit the car as the street parallel to the one they were on erupted in flame, and Prompto jerked, fingers digging into the leather of his seat.

_Holy fucking shit._

Everything suddenly felt surreal. In the span of five minutes they’d gone from a pleasant evening to what Prompto would solidly classify as the end of the world as he knew it, and he was just now getting whiplash from how fast everything had accelerated. This kind of shit wasn’t supposed to happen, least of all to Insomnia, to them, not after everything they’d been headed towards. Instead they’d all been plunged into the opening act of a bad action movie.

 _And this is the part where I call everyone with my goodbyes,_ Prompto thought, patting down his vest. His fingers closed around the smooth, rectangular shape of his phone, yanking it out. _Mom_ was second on speed dial, just under _Dad,_ but she got the first call, she would always get the first call, Prompto working his phone with shaking hands, pressing it to his ear once he’d dialed her.

It rang.

“Is the ramp on 7th open?” Gladio.

And rang again.

“Of course it is.” Ignis. Irritated, roaring around a gray SUV that had slowed to rubberneck.

Third time.

“Gladio, just shut up and let him drive.” Noctis this time, a little harried.

Fourth.

“ _Hi, you’ve reached--_ ”

“Fuck,” Prompto cursed, hanging up. Dad was next.

One ring.

Two.

_Beep beep beep._

Dead line.

Prompto felt like he’d had the wind knocked out of him. _No, no, no, no_ \--

The Regalia swerved _hard_ as Ignis cut over a lane, pulling in front of a black sedan. He cursed under his breath, something Prompto couldn’t make out between the roaring outside and the chatter in the car.

“Sorry,” Ignis said to no one in particular. More likely, if Prompto had to guess, he was apologizing to the Regalia.

He busied himself with tapping through the menus to redial, looking up just as an airstrike hit the high rise half a block in front of them. The whole street exploded into a fireball that crawled skyward, a shower of glass and rebar raining from it, and the entire sight was sort of gruesomely beautiful, capturing Prompto’s attention until the car beside them careened out of control, tires screeching loudly as the driver hit the brakes.

Ignis was less fazed, instead just accelerating through it, shards of glass tumbling down onto the Regalia’s roof and hood. He gave Prompto a concerned glance as he numbly sat back in his seat, finger hovering above the _Call_ button on his phone’s screen.

He couldn’t do it.

He didn’t want to hear the dead line again.

Instead he pocketed his phone, fingers curling over his knees in a white knuckle grip, swallowing thickly as he forced himself to pick his head up and look out the windshield. They were half a block from the on ramp now, Ignis sliding over that last lane to get in the turn lane, taking the turn just a bit too fast onto the ramp.

Once he’d rounded the curve into the straightaway he _gunned_ it, in a way that Prompto had only seen Noctis do once before, back years ago when Noctis had first gotten his license and wanted to show off the Regalia by being an utter tool. He blew by the signal at the end of the ramp, running the red, and even through all of this, all of what he had just witnessed, Prompto’s first panicked thought was, _oh shit, he’s going to get a ticket._

Well, that was if the Office of Motorized Vehicles was still standing come tomorrow.

The highway was open, but seemed to have suffered more from the airstrikes than the city had, craters dotting the highway going in both directions, usually surrounded by a crumpled or burned out vehicle, sometimes two, sometimes more. Part of the diverging off ramp that swooped off to join another cross highway had been hit, crumbling down, and Prompto could make out the shapes of a few cars stuck on the ramp.

“Fuck, they did a number on this,” Gladio murmured from the back seat. Prompto glanced at him in the rearview, Gladio’s face illuminated by the white glow of his phone screen as he tapped through it.

“No doubt they want to cripple exit routes from the city,” Ignis said, and suddenly it clicked for Prompto.

Would they even be able to make it out?

He turned his attentions back out his window, watching the torn up highway fly by, the occasional husk of a car, and a few times, he saw headlights, all going out like them, no one coming in.

“Hey Iris, it’s me, it’s Gladdy,” came Gladio’s voice from the back seat, soft, resigned, and saddened. “I hope you’re safe.” He paused, pulled in a shaky breath. “I don’t even fucking know what to say, so... I love you, we’re on our way out of the city. I really, really hope you’re safe, I hope you’re okay, just, fuck...” Another heavy pause. “I love you. Let me know you’re okay when you can.”

Silence. The white light dissipated off Gladio’s face. Prompto shut his eyes.

He wanted to open them and be back in Noctis’ apartment, back lying on the floor next to the coffee table, staring at the ceiling listening to Gladio and Noctis bicker about how to play the combination of cards Gladio had just laid out, to Ignis’ bemused sigh from the sofa, wanted to go back to an hour ago when the biggest thing on his mind was his best friend’s wedding.

Prompto jerked back to reality as the Regalia swerved sharply, roaring past the car in front of them that had come to an abrupt stop. Ignis glanced in the rearview, trying to assess just _why_ they’d stopped, holding his gaze there a second too long to see something tumbling down to the road maybe sixty feet in front of them.

It seemed to happen in slow motion, Prompto watching this cylinder turn through the air, twisting as it hurtled toward the road, and he reached for the wheel, grabbing it near the top and pulling it towards him, surprisingly light in his grasp. Ignis’ gaze dropped from the mirror to Prompto’s face, his brows glacially coming together in confusion, only to glance to his left out the windshield at the _absolute last second_ as everything on the road in front of them burst into a wall of fiery reds and oranges.

For a second it was beautiful, pure silence, and then Prompto could feel the _heat_ of all of it, even through the windshield and the walls of the Regalia, followed by several loud _whumps_ of something hitting the car, concrete or rebar or whatever debris had been thrown towards them, punctuated by one particularly loud _thwack_ that shook the whole car. It all culminated in a screech of tires as Ignis hit the brakes, sliding the Regalia to the side of the explosion and then the sharp _snap,_ almost like a gunshot, of the windshield cracking as a large rock bounced off of it, near the upper right corner.

A second later they were driving through the cloud of smoke, the Regalia lurching on the uneven road, Ignis trading the brake for the gas once more, accelerating blindly into the smokescreen, and Prompto sucked in a sharp breath, anticipating a crunch and a crash as they plowed into whatever lay on the other side, but the car emerged smoothly a second later, the smoke lifting to reveal the battered highway once more.

Ignis accelerated once more, shifting the car back into fifth. “Thank you,” he said, low, but Prompto could hear that he was genuinely appreciative. All Prompto could do was give a little grin back, his heart hammering in his ears, arms numb, head still spinning.

Shakily, he sat back, turned his attentions out the cracked windshield, and made his peace with everything he’d known up until this point as they continued on into the darkness.

\---

 

Their luck ran out just after dawn.

Prompto could hear that something was _wrong_ with the Regalia once the quiet of the airstrikes had died down and it was just them on the road, could hear the odd whine to the hum of her engine. There were new service lights illuminated on the dash, too, although Prompto couldn’t get a good enough look to tell just _what_ without just leaning over. Clearly Ignis knew something was up, too, from how he was biting his lip and twisting the wheel in his grasp.

They’d continued driving, through the night, past the massive Walls of Insomnia, Prompto committing that scene to memory, filing it away as possibly the last time he’d ever see the city, and then they moved out into the scraggle beyond, the landscape shifting into dark, harsh desert as the sky started to lighten.

So it didn’t come as much surprise to Prompto when the Regalia broke down about a hundred and forty miles outside of Insomnia, in the middle of a dry, deserted valley.

Noctis was staring blankly out the window, like he had for the past hundred miles, curled up against the door. Gladio was checking on him, alternating his attentions between Noctis and his phone, a constantly worried look on his face. Neither of them really reacted as she began to sputter and hiss, the engine disengaging, and Ignis just shifted down until they were in neutral, coasting to a stop smoothly at the side of the road.

For a moment Ignis just sat there, putting the car in park, staring at the wheel, lips pursed in a little frown.

“Why’d we stop?” Noctis asked, shifting in his seat.

“The engine’s disengaged. Timing chain’s gone, if I had to guess.”

Prompto tilted his head from side to side. “I dunno, sounded more like the dampener to me. But, if that goes, then it would affect the timing chain, so...”

Ignis cocked a brow. He clearly hadn’t been expecting that well-informed of an answer.

“My dad had a bit of a clunker,” Prompto offered. “We were always fixing it up.”

Noctis swung his head around, looking at the nearly endless desert around them. “Guess we’re not there yet, either.”

“Nope,” Gladio offered.

“Awesome.”

Ignis sighed, crossing his arms over the wheel and laying his head against them, forehead pressed to his forearms. “How much further to Hammerhead, Gladio?”

“What’s Hammerhead?” Noctis interjected, voice low.

“Phone says one point eight miles,” Gladio replied, matter-of-fact. “And it’s where my dad said we should go.”

“Well, we can either push the Regalia─” Ignis began, and Noctis perked up in the back seat.

“We’re not pushing this car two miles.”

“ _One point eight,_ ” Gladio corrected.

“─or we can walk there and hope that they can tow the car,” Ignis finally finished. “I think option two is the safer bet.”

“You’re not worried about leaving it on the side of the road?” Gladio asked, leaning in towards the middle to look at Ignis.

Prompto twisted to face all of them. “Why don’t we just split the difference? Push it a bit, and then we can go on up ahead and find someone to tow it?”

Ignis tilted his head appreciatively, looking at Noctis in the rearview. “What do you think, Highness?”

“Sure.”

\---

 

Prompto had never been intimidated behind the wheel before, but there was a first time for everything.

The Regalia’s dash was a collage of dials and gauges, and Prompto honestly wondered if they were all even functional. They couldn’t _all_ be useful; what did a car really need beyond fuel, speed, and RPMs?

His hands hovered over the central console, looking at a mosaic of buttons, only half of which seemed to be labelled. Ignis, bless him, had had the sense to put the top down before getting out of the driver’s seat to make room for Prompto (“It was his idea, he gets first turn behind the wheel,” he’d insisted when Noctis had griped), but now the struggle was disengaging the parking brake and getting the car into neutral.

“No, it’s─it’s the lower one, there, on your left,” Ignis said, from where he stood between Noctis and Gladio at the trunk, ready to push once the car was free to roll.

“This one?” Prompto asked, not even waiting for confirmation before he pressed the circular button his finger was over.

“That’s the─”

A loud click and a wet _thump_ sounded from the back, followed by a soft grunt of pain from Ignis and a laugh from Noctis.

“That was the trunk release, Prompto,” Ignis clarified. “Hm.”

Prompto turned to look back at them as Ignis lifted the trunk lid up. “Noct, is this all the gear you took the last time you went fishing?”

“Yeah?”

“That was over three weeks ago. Has it been sitting in the trunk this entire time?”

“...Yeah?”

“You never thought to clean it out and put it away?”

“Why? I’m just gonna put it right back in there next time I go out.”

Ignis sighed and slammed the trunk shut.

“Are you seriously going to get mad at me over that _right now,_ Specs?” Noctis goaded. “Look, now when we get stranded out here we have a tent to sleep in, at least. So in reality, I was just planning for that possibility. You can’t deny that I just have... amazing foresight.”

“The brake release is two down from that button, Prompto,” Ignis said, completely ignoring Noctis.

“Got it.”

\---

 

Prompto never thought salvation would look quite so much like a rundown garage.

But there it was, Hammerhead, in reality a cluster of buildings gleaming in the desert sunlight some quarter mile away, but to Prompto, it looked like heaven. If he’d had the energy in him, he would’ve sprinted there, for the promise of shade and shelter and maybe even a drink of water, but he’d expended nearly all the vitality in him pushing the Regalia.

But the four of them trudged on, keeping up with Gladio’s steady pace, Gladio who had been urging them along and snapping at anyone who protested since the moment they’d all denied him a turn behind the wheel.

“He’s too big,” Noctis had said. “We’d be pushing dead weight.”

Now, Gladio clearly thought they were all dead weight as they made the final stretch to salvation, the Regalia—top up and locked up safe—left on the side of the road a mile back.

“Home stretch,” he said, slapping Prompto’s back to hurry him along, half knocking the wind out of him. Prompto had hummed his agreement.

He nearly fell to his knees when they hit the paved asphalt of the complex, so tired of trudging over uneven desert, over rocks and dried up roots and soft spots of clay and sand, but at the last moment he found the will to stand, mostly because Gladio was about to pass right by him again and Prompto didn’t want a repeat of that back-pat.

Noctis made a beeline for the rounded building clearly labelled _DINER,_ leaving Ignis and Gladio to wander towards the garage in search of help. Prompto opted to follow Noctis; he wasn’t much in the mood for talking to strangers at this point, especially those from beyond the Wall. Leave that sort of thing to the adults, he reasoned.

“Noctis!” Ignis had called after them, but Noctis hadn’t bothered.

Inside was cooler, not air conditioned but out of the sun at least. Prompto surveyed the interior for a moment to get his bearings, from the long diner counter dotted with stools, to the booths across the aisle under the windows. At the end were a couple of doors and possibly a pinball machine, but Prompto didn’t care enough to get a closer look, instead collapsing on the closest stool that he could, immediately pulling out his phone. He glanced once over at Noctis, who was speaking to the man behind the counter, before returning to his phone and dialing─Mom first, like always. Phone urgently pressed to his ear, he waited while the call struggled to connect, and then─

Dead line.

Prompto scowled, dialed his dad next.

_Dead line._

Okay, time to change tactics.

Prompto pulled open his messages, tapped over to the conversation with his dad, and typed out a quick _Checking in_ before pressing ‘Send.’

The message hung, the tiny wheel icon idly spinning, never stopping and disappearing, hanging there just like his text.

Frustrated, upset, not even wanting to remotely consider the possibility that his parents were _dead,_ that others he knew back home were dead and that they’d just left them all behind, just driven away without a care, Prompto flipped his phone over and folded his arms on the table, burying his face into the crook of his elbow.

He heard Noctis return, perching on a stool beside him. “Hey.”

Prompto lifted his head enough to look at Noctis, who held two sodas, offering one. He sat up, took it, fiddling with the straw.

“They take stuff called gil here and I don’t have any, but the guy gave us these for free anyway,” Noctis said, swirling his. “Guess word of what happened is travelling pretty fast.” His voice sounded hollow, a little empty.

“Yeah.” Prompto took a sip. It was sickeningly sweet on his tongue after being parched for so long.

“You calling your mom?”

He nodded. “The line’s dead. Same with my dad.”

“Cell towers might be out in the city.”

Another nod. He stirred his ice with the straw.

“I’m sure they’re okay,” Noctis said, and there was real worry in his voice.

He heard footsteps behind him, heavy ones, ones that meant _Gladio,_ and a moment later the heavy sound of Gladio’s sigh cut the air as he slid into a booth by the window. Noctis disengaged himself from his stool and went to sit opposite him, and Prompto followed suit a moment later, soda in hand, plunking down on the bench beside Noctis.

Gladio checked his phone, frowning at the results, likely facing the same reality that Prompto was, and a pang of genuine sympathy hit Prompto as he looked at the concern clearly etched on Gladio’s face.

Noctis pushed his soda over to Gladio. “So what’s the plan?”

“Iggy went with the mechanic to get the Regalia. Shouldn’t take ‘em too long.” Gladio picked up the soda in one giant hand and took a long drink, not even bothering with the straw. He handed it back to Noctis when he was done, wiping his mouth on the back of his hand.

“Still nothing from Iris?” Noctis asked, reaching for the straw.

“No.”

“I was just saying to Prompto, the cell towers in the city might be out. It might take a little while to get them back on.”

“Yeah.” Gladio gave Prompto an incredibly empathetic look, coupled with a sad smile. Prompto tried to smile back, hand folded over his armband, the echo of that dead line bouncing around in his head.

\---

 

If Hammerhead were salvation, it only followed that it would be populated by angels.

Prompto hadn’t been expecting one to climb out of the driver’s seat of the tow truck pulling the Regalia, however. He’d anticipated a greasy, slightly overweight mechanic, not a woman with a mess of golden curls tucked under a red and yellow hat and beautiful, fiercely intelligent eyes.

The slam of the truck’s door pulled him from his thoughts, and then the mechanic was walking towards the three of them, seated outside the diner, Ignis trailing behind her. Prompto couldn’t help but stand, slightly in awe of her, vaguely aware of just how _awkward_ he looked but in the same measure not wanting to appear rude by _not_ standing to greet the woman who’d just done them a huge solid.

But any confidence he might’ve had wilted when Gladio crept into his periphery, tall, muscular, handsome Gladio, Gladio who was sure to draw her eye instead of scrawny Prompto.

Instead, however, she passed both of them up and instead held out her hand to Noctis. “Hear you’re the owner,” she said, and on anyone else Prompto would’ve found her sort of accent thick and grating, but on her it was oddly charming. “Nice to meet ‘ya. I’m Cindy.”

“Hi,” Noctis said, giving her hand a firm shake.

Gladio got a quick wave and a smile of acknowledgement, but she actually turned to Prompto and held out her hand, just like she had done for Noctis, and although Prompto’s words turned to ash on his tongue, her genuine smile and the way she firmly squeezed his hand as she shook it lifted his spirits immensely. He managed a smile back, tried not to make it too toothy, and didn’t let his grip linger as they shook.

“Real bad spot to have car trouble, huh? Least you boys were on your way before all that stuff happened in the city, though. Real sorry to hear about all that, but good timing for a road trip if there ever was one.”

“Yeah, definitely,” Gladio said, taking note of Ignis’ cocked brow.

“So what’s wrong with her?” Noctis asked.

“Need to get her hood open to know for sure, but yeah, I’d say it’s probably the pulleys or the belt.”

“Can you... fix it?” Noctis asked, and Prompto could tell he felt out of his element.

“Of course!” She smiled, flashing her teeth. “Might take a day or two to get parts in, what with what’s going on in the Crown City, but she can be fixed.”

“Great.” Noctis grinned, looking to Ignis and Prompto for validation.

Ignis took a little half-step to join with the conversation circle, instead of lingering in the back. “I was explaining to Miss Cindy that we’re short on funds as is, and that we may have to wire her payment for the tow and the repair.”

“I might have a credit card that works out here,” Gladio offered. Cindy gave him a dismissive frown.

“Don’t worry about it right now,” she said. “Need to get her running first.” She glanced over her shoulder at the tow, Regalia still on the bed, gleaming in the sunlight. “I’m gonna take her back into the garage and get her opened up. I’ll let you know what I find.”

With another smirk she was off, Ignis’ _“Thank you,”_ trailing after her as she headed back to the tow.

“She seems friendly,” Gladio said once she was out of earshot. “What’d you tell her?”

“I just said we were making our way out to Galdin Quay and we’d been out of the city when the attack hit,” Ignis replied, folding his arms over his chest.

“And now we just wait?” Noctis asked.

“Until we hear from the Marshal or Clarus, yes,” Ignis said, pushing his glasses up his face as he stared off into the distance.

Noctis turned slightly to Gladio. “You really have a credit card that might work out here? Because I don’t know about you but... I’m starving.”

\---

Food did little to lift Prompto’s mood.

As it turned out, Gladio _did_ have a credit card that worked for foreign transactions, and a half hour later they were packed into a booth, a greasy line cook was setting down plates in front of them. Prompto managed to choke down half a burger before it turned his stomach, and he’d nudged his plate away after that. The only one among them with any real appetite seemed to be Noctis, but even he got halfway in and then pushed his plate away.

“Can we dump you with the bill?” Noctis asked. “I wanna go check on the car.”

Gladio had nodded, and Noctis had scooted out from the bench beside him, turning to Prompto. “You coming?”

“Sure.”

Prompto found the willpower to stand, trailing after Noctis out of the diner and into the afternoon sunshine.

“You try your parents again?” Noctis asked as they cut across the blacktop.

“Still dead,” Prompto admitted, shrugging. He picked at his wristband. Noctis’ face fell slightly. “Nothing I can do about it right now, though.”

Noctis shrugged. “Yeah, but... we’re all trapped in this shitty situation, so if you need anything, y’know...”

“Yeah.” A pause. “Thanks.”

Noctis paused just a moment in front of the garage, taking in the large open door and the domed roof, trying to assess what lay in the shadows inside. There was the gentle _whir_ of something pneumatic, a hydraulic lift, maybe, and the rhythmic _clank_ of metal against metal, either a ratchet or some kind of wrench.

Prompto was surprised to see that the Regalia wasn’t on lifts as he followed Noctis into the dimly lit garage, but rather on a track with her hood open, various bits pulled out of her, a lamp hooked onto the hood.

“You the brat that owns her?”

Noctis turned to the wall, searching for the source of the gravelly voice that had piped up, finding it to be an equally gravelly old man, jerking a socket wrench over his shoulder in the direction of the Regalia.

“Yeah?” came Noctis’ uncertain reply. Prompto rolled his eyes slightly.

“What in the hell have you been doing to that car, son?” the man said, turning around to face them. He stood half a head shorter than Prompto, who wasn’t exactly the picture of height to begin with, but Prompto couldn’t deny that he felt slightly intimidated. Peering at them from under a red and yellow hat, one that matched Cindy’s, he sized up Prompto first, then moved his gaze over to Noctis, frowning, his mouth barely visible under the whiskers of his beard.

“Driving it?” Noctis answered, looking to Prompto for some backup.

The man sighed, shifted his wrench to his left hand, and held out his right. “I’m Cid,” he said.

“I’m...” Noctis started, holding out his hand, and Prompto could tell he was scrambling for a fake name.

“You’re Noctis, I know,” Cid finished. “You do look a little like Reggie, underneath that mop you got goin’ on.” He gestured to his forehead.

Noctis blinked a few times in surprise, brushing his hair back, something he always did when someone commented on it, Prompto had noticed.

“Surprised I blew your cover that fast?” Cid asked, pushing his hat up. “Although last time I saw you, you weren’t nothin’ more than a pile of blankets in your dad’s arms.” He ran a hand along the inside of the hood of the Regalia. “Guess it’s been a while.”

“No kidding,” Noctis said slowly. Prompto could almost hear the gears turning in his head. “How’d you know my dad?”

“We worked together,” Cid replied, adjusting the lamp hooked to the Regalia’s hood. “We were friends for a long while, but I haven’t seen him in years, not since he started staying in the city. Not my kind of place, Insomnia.”

A silence settled between them, joining the dust and the grease film coating everything in the garage. Prompto shifted his weight from foot to foot, expecting Noctis to say something, but he seemed lost in his own thoughts.

“What’s, ah, what’s up with the Regalia?” Prompto asked, almost unable to stop the words from coming out. Cid looked up from his spot at her hood.

“Pulleys under the engine were smashed out by a stellar driver,” Cid replied, eyeing Noctis, who instantly shook his head no.

“Wasn’t me.”

Cid’s gaze wandered to Prompto, who also shook his head no, holding up his hand as if to swear it. “Not me.”

“Well, do me a favor and give whoever was behind the wheel of that car a good smack upside the head for me,” Cid commented. “Cindy’s gonna put her up on the lift in a bit and we’ll get the pulleys changed. We’ll do the timing chain once they’re in place.”

Prompto nodded, feeling slightly validated that Cid had just supported his assumption.

“We’ll leave you to it,” Noctis said, taking a step backwards. “I have to go dish out a smack now, anyway.”

Cid jerked the ratchet in their direction, half a wave goodbye, half a gesture of _Good riddance._

\---

 

Prompto figured Cindy was easily as smart as she was pretty.

And he would put her at very, very pretty. So, naturally, that meant she was _very, very, very_ smart, at least when it came to anything that ran on some kind of combustion engine. Currently, she was standing below the Regalia, suspended on the lifts, replacing one of the hydraulic dampers, fingers coated with grease that seemed to catch on everything she touched--her hat, her face, any reachable portion of her jumpsuit.

Prompto thought it was kind of cute, honestly.

He’d been in the garage for about an hour, the four of them having split when they returned to the diner. Ignis had retrieved all of his paperwork from the car and set up back in their booth near the window, a displaced general making camp on the front. Gladio had opted to take a long walk towards the foothills, phone securely in hand, and Noctis had plunked himself down at the counter in the diner, at the stool closest to the lone outlet, phone in hand, no doubt trying to watch the news, charger cable at the ready.

Cindy didn’t _seem_ to mind the company, at least as far as Prompto could tell. Instead she talked eagerly about anything and everything, from the old beater he’d worked on with his dad, to growing up outside of Insomnia, to whether or not gullwing doors were functional enough to offset how stylish they were (at least, in Prompto’s opinion).

They both looked over at the sound of footsteps, the firm _tap tap_ of Ignis’ oxfords on the blacktop as he strode over, Noctis in tow, finally stuffing his phone into his pocket. They stopped at the edge of the garage, Ignis adjusting his glasses as he frowned at the underside of the Regalia.

“So you’re the one who did a number on her,” Cindy said, setting the bolts in her hand down and trading them for her well-worn grease rag.

“Evidently,” Ignis said, stepping under the Regalia to view the damage.

“Not so perfect now, eh?” Noctis chided. Ignis shot him a very flat look.

“I wanted to speak to you about arranging payment for the repairs,” Ignis said, looking from Prompto to Cindy as she stepped around the post of the lift. “I can do a wire, but the funds likely would take a day or two to clear─”

“Nah, Paw Paw said he knew your pops,” she paused to gesture at Noctis, “and that we could figure something out. Prompto here’s been helping do all the work, anyway.” She shrugged; Prompto looked down to the floor to hide the color creeping into his cheeks. “Changing a chain and some pulleys ain’t no big deal. Not every day I get a chance to work on a car like this, either.”

“Your hospitality is very generous,” Ignis said, and Prompto could hear the genuine surprise in his voice.

“Just the way I was raised.” No shrug this time, but a little tilt of her head from side to side. “You boys have some place to shack up for the night?”

“We’ve got some camping stuff in the trunk,” Noctis began, gesturing toward the Regalia.

“Nah,” Cindy replied, giving the notion a dismissive wave. “Ya’ll can use the trailer.” She pointed across the lot, to an orange and white striped tow camper. “Might be a little tight in there, with the four of ‘ya, but it beats sleeping on the ground.”

“Thank you,” Prompto said, and her resulting smile was so warm he had to look away after a second.

“C’mon, I’ll unlock her for you,” Cindy said, cutting through their circle to head towards the trailer. Ignis turned to follow her, after exchanging brief glances with Prompto and Noctis, who both opted not to follow.

\---

 

The video coverage was surreal, so many familiar buildings turned into bombed out husks, dotted with ragged citizens who moved slowly about the wreckage. Prompto stupidly kept hoping to see his parents in one shot, to see his mom and dad standing there, maybe shell shocked but _alive,_ but it was a pipe dream, he knew.

Noctis was rummaging around in the surprisingly deep trunk of the Regalia, nearly crawling into it as he reached for a red and white plastic chest stashed at the very back.

“It almost looks fake,” Prompto said, chewing the inside corner of his mouth as he continued to watch. Noctis sighed, fingers closing around the latch of the chest, standing up as he managed to pull it forward over the cylindrical canvas bags holding the tent.

“Yeah,” Noctis answered, pulling the chest from the trunk on to the back bumper. He set it down on the ground with a firm _pat._

“They said Luna’s dead,” he continued, turning to face the trunk, his voice hollow, the statement something he knew was likely true but didn’t want to believe.

“I’m sorry.”

Noctis shook his head. “They said my dad’s gone, too. That can’t be... true.” His eyes narrowed slightly as he reached up for the lid of the trunk. “No way in a million fucking years do I believe that, given that they also said I bit it.” He pulled the trunk down and slammed it shut.

“You look pretty good for being dead, though. Very... _lifelike,_ ” Prompto said, trying to cut the tension and pull himself away from his own thoughts of his parents, handing the phone back to Noctis. Noctis chuckled, not a full laugh, but a sign that the attempt was appreciated.

Noctis drew in a sharp breath, turning the phone off and sliding it back into his pocket. “Can you take that over to Iggy? It’s just cans and stuff, but let me know what he says.”

“Yeah, of course.”

Prompto picked up the chest by its white plastic handles, finding it bulkier than he’d anticipated, striding off as Noctis dialed his phone, holding it to his ear. It wasn’t a long walk over to the caravan, its yellow lights radiating like a beacon in the twilight, but with the chest it might as well have been miles away.

Grunting, Prompto resettled it halfway across the lot, stopping near the gas pumps to balance it on one knee while he reaffirmed his grip on either side, determined to trudge on. But as he neared the storage shed, the last real obstacle he’d have to navigate around before he had a beeline to the caravan, the handles started to slip again, and this time the latch on the lid was slowly being pushed up, so Prompto, cursing his lacking upper body strength, set it down at the back of the shed. Just around the corner he could see the caravan, Gladio and Ignis standing outside, Gladio unstacking the patio furniture that had been piled next to the caravan and arranging it under the pull out awning.

He busied himself with re-latching the chest, pulling the plastic tab down and securing it before pushing it in with a loud snap. Satisfied, he was about to pick up the chest one last time when the sound of Gladio’s incensed voice fell across his ears.

“And what the fuck was that, huh?” Gladio snapped. “You were just gonna leave him there? The kid’s like fucking _nineteen,_ Iggy.”

“Our duty is to _Noctis,_ Gladio, and we may not be able to afford distractions─” That was Ignis, also heated.

“Our duty’s to Noctis, right? How the fuck do you think Noctis is gonna feel when you admit to him that you wanted to dump his _best friend_ back in that city to die?”

So Prompto hadn’t misread Ignis’ look back in the garage. That realization stung, a lot, his stomach dropping. He knew Gladio and Ignis kept him a bit at arm’s length; after all, they were part of Noctis’ sworn Crownsguard, and Prompto was just his friend, there was going to be a little bit of friction between them. But Prompto had never expected the division to run so deep in Ignis’ book.

“We hardly knew how severe the situation was at the time,” Ignis protested. “At the time there was full reason to believe that Prompto would have been fine--”

“Really? You’re gonna try and downplay it?” Gladio, slamming a chair down to end that sentence, the _clack_ echoing off the caravan and the shed. Prompto crept just a bit forward to get a better look at them.

“I was wrong.” Ignis, straining to get out each word. “And I will apologize to him for that presumption.” Ignis set his jaw. Prompto could almost hear him grinding his teeth.

“Yeah, and I hope he doesn’t fucking forgive you.” There was genuine bitterness in Gladio’s voice, and Ignis flinched a bit at that. “Sometimes you can be a real shitty person, Iggy.”

Ignis couldn’t hide his shock, although it was quickly wiped away, back to his neutral, controlled expression. Gladio snorted in satisfaction, and then shoved past Ignis, deliberately clipping him with his shoulder. The result was almost comical, Ignis caught totally off balance by the gesture, his narrow frame completely lacking the inertia to keep him still as Gladio’s wide shoulder collided with him, and he took a couple of stutter-steps, trying to keep his balance. He looked at Gladio with such fury Prompto was startled himself, expecting Ignis to strike back at Gladio as he continued to walk away, but nothing came, nothing except an angry sigh and Ignis adjusting his cuffs as Gladio disappeared around the side of the caravan.

Prompto swallowed thickly, chewing the inside of his mouth as he decided what to do, ducking back behind the shed. He’d have to wait a while before wandering out to the front of the caravan, so as to not alert Gladio and Ignis to the fact that he’d just overheard their _entire fucking conversation_. Maybe it would be better to head back down to the curb at the garage, but then Noctis would likely ask _why_ Prompto had come back without Gladio and Ignis, and he wasn’t sure he trusted himself to tell a convincing enough lie. Noctis knew him too well, he’d see right through it, twist Prompto’s arm with a few questions, and then the whole story would be out.

Prompto knew this from experience, of course.

So instead he counted to sixty in his head, glued to his spot at the back of the shed, and the on sixty one he peeked around the corner of the shed again. Gladio was nowhere to be found now, but he could see Ignis through the front window of the caravan, having moved to stand in the kitchenette, his back to Prompto.

Still unsure if it were safe to approach, Prompto picked up the chest once more, trudging the last thirty odd feet to the caravan. He started up the steps, making enough noise that Ignis should hear him coming, stopping on the second one to balance the chest on his knee.

Ignis had his hands braced on either side of the sink, his head dipped down, shoulders arched in a bow, glasses casually discarded on the counter beside him. Prompto just watched him for a second, with a mix of anger and hurt sprinkled in with a little pity.

“Hey,” he said, and Ignis straightened up, snatching his glasses as he turned around. “Sorry. It’s just me.”

Prompto climbed up the last stair, leaning into the kitchenette to set the chest down. “That’s the stuff from the Regalia. Noct wondered if you could use any of it.”

“Thank you.” Ignis adjusted his glasses on his face, a long, silent beat hanging in the air between them, and Ignis’ expression said that he knew Prompto had overheard their conversation, chewing the inside of the corner of his mouth, possibly formulating an apology.

With little to no desire to hear it, at least not right now, Prompto stepped back down the stairs, turning away from the caravan. He cut back around the shed, heading towards the garage, but as he cleared the last corner of it, he stopped.

There were two new cars parked on the blacktop, big, almost ungainly SUVs, the bright fluorescent lights reflecting off them in large purplish-white streaks, and Prompto instantly recognized them as Crownsguard vehicles.

Prompto wasn’t sure if it was a good sign or a bad sign yet, but it was a sign, more than anything they’d had all day.

His gaze wandered further over, and then there was Gladio, standing with Noctis over at the pumps, speaking with...

...Cor. Cor Leonis. The Marshal.

It felt so strange to see a familiar face out here like this, like one of his schoolmates had just driven up here and parked and gotten out for a chat (although Prompto knew Cor had far better odds of survival than any of his classmates had), but there he was, speaking to the other two while a few other Crownsguard, men Prompto recognized in passing that had served Regis, milled about.

He couldn’t hear anything, not yet, still too far as he made his way across the blacktop, but he could see them enough to gauge their reactions. Gladio was stiff─no doubt there had been some bad news, and Prompto sincerely wished that it didn’t concern Iris. Noct was stiff, too, no doubt trying to process all of this, and then he slowly shook his head, hands curling into fists at his sides, head dropping forward to stare at the ground.

_Bad news, then._

A second later Noctis _lunged_ at Cor, with an awful shout, and Prompto was so startled he stopped in his tracks, flinching. Gladio was there to intercept him, grabbing him at the shoulders, not that it would have mattered─Cor was more than capable of defending himself against a twenty year old boy who stood a head shorter than him. Noctis thrashed again, his shout turning into something between a scream and a sob, still struggling to get at Cor.

Prompto slowed his walk, able to make out some of the words now, catching “ _duty_ ” “ _protect_ ” “ _dead_ ”, stringing those together and coupling them with Noctis’ reaction into a singular in his head. There were footsteps behind him on the blacktop, sharp _taps,_ Ignis’ heels as he jogged across the asphalt, no doubt drawn by Noctis’ shout of distress, but he came to a stop just behind Prompto, both of them standing some thirty feet away.

Noctis twisted and fought for another minute, and then went limp, Gladio pulling him into a tight hug, Noctis’ forehead resting against his shoulder. Prompto saw him visibly sag, knees starting to buckle, held up for a moment solely by Gladio’s arms, his hands uncurling.

And that in that second it was all clear, Prompto’s heart sinking, tumbling further when he exchanged a small glance with Ignis, who bore the same fraught, worried, sympathetic expression. He knew it, too.

Their King was dead.


	3. Gladio

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> beta read by [sordes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes) and [Sauronix.](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix/pseuds/Sauronix)

At first, it all seemed like a dream.

Maybe it had started that way, a dream of darkness and fire and shards of glass floating down like snowflakes, alight with the reds and oranges of the flames, or maybe those had simply been memories that Gladio’s mind had pulled forth. He meandered among these shards, looking for something, searching, feeling its absence, a vague sense of panic settling in him, turning him frantic.

He turned, whipped around, finding fire and two red lights staring at him, eyes in the darkness, eyes belonging to a monster that was everywhere and nowhere, a monster with no shape of its own. And then he ran, stumbled, fell, tumbled like those shards, head over heels, unable to grasp anything or orient himself, falling deeper and deeper and deeper until─

Until he fell into the waking world.

He was lying on the floor, hard, some kind of tile, and the room was bright, although he still had his eyes firmly closed. It was quiet, a mechanical hum coming from somewhere near his feet, one that was vaguely unfamiliar and hard to place.

Maybe he was back home. Maybe it was all just a long, strange nightmare that ended in fire and glass.

He’d open his eyes, look up at the eggshell ceiling of his room at the manor, smooth and white, and then the sounds of the traffic below would filter in, as they sometimes did if Gladio listened closely. He’d hear the hum of his fridge, maybe the whirr of the central air kicking on, the normal white noises of his living space.

And everything would be fine. None of this had happened. No one had died, nothing had been destroyed. It would all just be... reset.

But he knew the moment he opened his eyes that illusion would be shattered. He knew it, in his heart of hearts. He could tell just from the feel of the floor beneath him that it was unfamiliar, and the silence outside meant they weren’t in Insomnia anymore.

He sighed, blinking his eyes open, greeted by the sight of the gross popcorn ceiling of the caravan, most certainly _not_ the smooth white ceilings of his own bedroom, gaze moving from divot to divot as he replayed everything that had happened in the last forty eight hours in his head. It was surreal, all of it, and Gladio wondered if maybe he should try again to fall asleep and wake up properly, back in his apartment, in a timeline where none of this had occurred.

But that ugly popcorn ceiling said otherwise.

It said he was here to stay.

Grinding his teeth slightly, Gladio sat up, surveying the silent caravan. He was on the floor, near the foot of the bed, legs spilling out into the kitchenette. Noctis himself occupied the bed, sprawled out on his stomach, and on the other side Prompto was sleeping on the sofa, but other than that the trailer was deserted. Gladio watched the dust drifting in a bright sunbeam in the kitchenette while he gauged just what time it was.

Doing his best to not wake Noctis or Prompto, Gladio reached for his boots, pulling them on but not bothering with the laces before he hauled himself using the counter for support. He slipped out of the trailer, careful not to bang the door behind him as he shuffled down the stairs.

Ignis was already up, hovering over a mug of coffee at the plastic table under the awning, his gloves sitting beside him, bare fingers curled around the mug. He wasn’t wearing his glasses, which was surprising; Gladio had hardly ever seen him with them off, unless the circumstances warranted it. Instead they were on the table, resting next to his gloves, neatly folded. Overall he looked disheveled, hair totally unstyled, circles forming under his eyes, and Gladio figured he probably hadn’t slept at all.

“Hey,” Gladio said, voice gravelly. He coughed, trying to clear his throat.

“Morning,” Ignis answered, glancing at him before reaching for his glasses, flicking them open and settling them on his face. 

Gladio pulled out one of the other plastic chairs, the feet scraping on the asphalt with a terrible sound. He sank down into it, legs sprawled out in front of him, leaning back. It was quiet, almost serene, the only sounds the dry, rattling drone of the bugs in the nearby bushes and the occasional cry of a bird.

“You sleep at all?”

“No,” Ignis said, not stern, almost as if this fact surprised himself.

Gladio cocked a brow at him. For as long as he’d known Ignis, which was over half his life at this point, he’d also been aware of how obsessive he could be, of how much something could consume him, and it wouldn’t do them any good to have the future Hand of the King burn out within the first week on the job.

“How are you feeling?” Ignis asked, almost as a diversion.

“I dunno,” Gladio sighed, staring down at the table. “Shitty? Angry? Scared shitless?” He folded his arms over his chest. “Feels like none of this is real, honestly.”

Ignis’ gaze fell for just a moment, dropping to his coffee. “I’m... incredibly sorry to hear about your father,” he said, shoulders tensing, his tone soft and reserved. “He was a good man.”

“Thanks,” Gladio said, cutting him off. “You don’t─” He sighed, unable to finish his own sentence.

“If you need anything─”

“Yeah,” Gladio ground out. “Thanks.” It was hard to gauge Ignis’ sincerity, which Gladio knew was a shitty thing to call into question at this point, but in recent years he’d known Ignis to only express genuine concern or enthusiasm for matters pertaining to Noctis. But as he stole a quick glance at Ignis, staring blankly at the table in front of him, fingers curled around his mug like it were the only thing keeping him upright, Gladio wondered if maybe he were judging him a little too harshly, the incident with Prompto in the garage and their argument the day prior all too fresh in his mind.

_Just gotta let it go._

“Never in a million years did I think my first real day on the job would go down like this,” Gladio mused, punctuating his statement with a hollow snort.

“That’s quite the understatement,” Ignis said, washing his statement down with another sip from his mug. Gladio looked at him, trying to hold back an absurd chuckle. It was an unusually frank statement for Ignis, who was normally so reserved, so aloof and almost untouchable.

A brief silence settled on them, broken up only by the gentle scrape of Ignis’ mug on the table as he turned the logo ( _“Caw, kids, it’s Kenny Crow!”_ ) painted on it towards himself, running his thumb over it. _How long have I known him_ , Gladio wondered to himself, reasoning that it had to be fourteen, maybe fifteen years at this point? He’d spent more than half his life in contact with Ignis, and yet here they were, strangers at a plastic table.

They certainly hadn’t always been like this, Gladio thought. He had scores of fond memories back from their earlier days, before the responsibilities of their respective duties had piled up and Ignis had... changed, had become solely and singularly focused on his work. And at first, Gladio had let it slide; Ignis’ position hadn’t been set in stone from an early age the way his own was, and instead he’d been just one candidate of a good handful, forced to prove himself worthy of the opportunity. Gladio had reasoned that once he was selected, he’d relax, back off, rest on his laurels like a professor who’d just earned tenure, but Ignis had just gotten _worse,_ to the point where his obsession with steering the aspects of Noctis’ life had not only caused dozens of arguments between them, but soured a portion of their friendship.

And yet, stupidly, despite it all, Gladio would be friends again, if Ignis warmed up. He wanted to be, really. Not just for the sake of the group and their venture, either, because despite all of it, despite the arguments and the hurtful words and watching Ignis scrub his own personality away to care for Noctis, Gladio still respected him, although it might take some serious prodding to admit it. He admired his dedication, his sheer ability to power through whatever tasks were before him, to just get things done at any cost.

Plus, it might’ve helped that underneath it all, Ignis was kind of... cute, too.

At least in Gladio’s opinion.

Not that he’d ever offer that up, even if seriously prodded.

Gladio wasn’t sure when his little crush had really developed, but it had been there through his later teens, extending into his twenties. His feelings fluctuated, sure─they were bound to every time they argued or he witnessed Ignis do something callous─but at the end of the day, as tempers cooled and emotions levelled out, Gladio couldn’t shake the strange affection he had for Ignis underneath it all.

Yet he’d never act on it. It was clear that whatever affection they shared was largely a one way street, something that frustrated Gladio to no end. Besides, Ignis had never shown any interest in another person, and Gladio doubted that was bound to change any time soon.

But none of any of this mattered, really, not now, not with what they’d both been thrown headlong into, not when Gladio was still struggling to piece together everything going on around him.

Ignis sighed, frowning as he swirled his mug, staring off into the distance. Gladio shifted forward, hunching over, elbows on his knees.

“What should we do?” he asked, not really expecting an answer, but of course he’d gone and asked the one person who would give him one regardless.

“I...” Ignis began, and Gladio’s stare snapped to him.

_Don’t say it. Don’t say ‘I don’t know.’_

_You_ have _to know. You’re the one person who has to know._

“I would say, first, we speak to the Marshal. Find someplace to take Noct while we assess the situation and what resources we have available.” He finally met Gladio’s gaze, and through the cracks of his steely, confident gaze, Gladio could see his own matching uncertainty and fear.

“We’ll figure this all out,” Ignis continued, and although there was a slight waver in his voice, Gladio found that he believed him.

\---

Gladio never imagined their first council meeting would be at a dinky white garden table.

But desperate times called for desperate measures, and right now those included a picnic table.

Seated around it was Noctis, with Gladio himself to Noct’s left and Cor across from him. Completing the circle at the table was Ignis, seated to Cor’s left, putting him on Noctis’ right, and Prompto lingered nearby on the stairs. Gladio could sense that Prompto wanted to be at the table, and Noctis had gestured, kicking out to create some space between himself and Ignis, but Prompto had waved him off.

Cor was currently telling Ignis about the remaining Glaives who had escaped the city, about regrouping and choosing locations to station them to maximize their potential for resistance. Although Gladio was trying to keep pace with their conversation, Ignis simply knew the situation better, and Gladio had a sneaking suspicion whatever had been in that docket of his had something to do with that. _You’re just a glorified bodyguard,_ he reminded himself, falling silent as more things were circled on the map, the pen passing between Ignis and Cor.

“...and there’s still reason to believe that the Oracle is alive,” Cor said, and Noctis snapped to attention, Gladio piggybacking off his reaction.

“Luna?”

Cor looked at him, his face hard, sizing up Noctis. “She was seen in the company first of Nyx Ulric, and then with an unidentified Glaive leaving the city.” He paused, tapping the table. “Presumably, she could have survived.”

“But she was reported dead along with Clarus and His Majesty,” Ignis interjected.

“If she were really dead, I would have expected some kind of a reaction from Ravus. Instead, her brother still at the Emperor’s side,” Cor countered, and Ignis raised his eyebrows and nodded his acknowledgment. “If she’d really been killed during the Empire’s seizure of the city, I would’ve expected some hostility on his part.”

“How do we find her?” Noctis, again, eager.

“Hopefully she’s crafty enough to avoid the Empire for the time being and find some of the Glaives,” Cor said, but his tone of voice made it sound as though he didn’t think this a likely possibility. Noctis frowned, clearly dissatisfied with that answer, but didn’t offer a counterpoint.

“I do have confirmed reports that Aldercapt has had the Crystal removed from Insomnia,” Cor continued.

“Do you know where they’ve taken it?” Ignis asked

“The latest word is Gralea,” Cor offered. “Apparently Aldercapt has become quite obsessed with it over the last few years.”

A lull settled over them, as the weight of what Cor had said sunk in. That Crystal was nearly the symbol of Insomnia, of the power her kings wielded and what drove her, what separated her from the rest of the world. And now it had been stolen, plucked from its home by a far-away Emperor, nothing more than a trophy of a conquest.

“What about my dad’s Ring?” Noctis asked, breaking the brief silence.

Cor sighed. “If the Empire had it, I would think we would know by now. They’ve been deliberately quiet on the subject, but the reports I have state that all of the royal holdings are being thoroughly searched, and there are checkpoints at all the major exits keeping people in the city.”

Gladio shifted in his chair. “Any ideas who might have it?”

“With Clarus dead, no. No one else was close to Regis when he... when he was killed,” Cor said, chewing the inside corner of his mouth. “But that Ring is our number one priority right now, and once we get Noctis to a safe location, I would think we can turn the brunt of our resources onto locating it.”

“What’s your idea of a ‘safe location’?” Noctis asked, skeptical, voice flat.

“We’ve got several retreats in the west, north of Meladacio. That’s probably the safest spot for you right now.”

“And you just want me to, what, stay put? While you guys go off and find the Ring? Just, y’know, hang tight?” Noctis’ tone had turned sarcastic, a little ugly, like he didn’t like the implication of Cor’s words.

Cor didn’t back down from the challenge, though. “That’s exactly what you should do,” he said, each word deliberate.

“No,” Noctis said, shaking his head. “It’s my dad’s Ring, it’s my _family’s_ Ring, and it has been for a hundred and fourteen generations. _I_ need to find it.”

“Noct,” said Ignis, in his clear _adviser_ voice and not _friend_ voice, “you’re the last Lucis Caelum in Lucis. Without you─”

“I know what I am,” Noctis snapped. “And I know I’m going to find that Ring.”

Silence. Noctis stood abruptly, throwing angry glares at Cor and Ignis, before his face softened a fraction and he looked in Gladio’s direction. Without giving any of them a chance to respond, however, Noctis turned from the table, stalking off in the direction of the garage.

“Noct,” Ignis called after him, standing, about to follow his charge. Gladio raised a hand, telling him to stay put.

“Just let him cool off for a bit,” he said, and Ignis grit his teeth, but reluctantly sat. Gladio shifted his gaze to Prompto, making eye contact with him and then jerking his head in Noctis’ direction. Prompto nodded, quietly rising up off the stairs and trailing after his friend. Ignis saw, his jaw setting in irritation, but all he did was pick up his pen, scrawling down something at the edge of the map.

“You two... finish talking,” Gladio said. “I’m going to go check on the car.”

Cor gave him a nod of acknowledgement, but Ignis didn’t even look up, no doubt peeved that Gladio supposed Prompto might have been better to comfort Noctis than his royal asswiper himself. _Whatever._

He hauled himself out of his chair, stretching out his legs as he sauntered over to the garage. The door was half open, and Gladio ducked under it, finding the garage dark and deserted inside. White light from outside filtered inside, catching all of the metal cabinets and tools in the garage with sharp white rimlighting.

Gladio blinked, adjusting to the gloom. He grabbed the edge of the metal rolling door, hoisting it a bit higher to let more light in, making sure it would stay in place before he let it go and stepped away.

The Regalia gleamed in the low light, several bright highlights splashed across her freshly polished hood, bright bluish-white streaks against the jet black of her hood. Cleaned up like this, with a fresh coat of wax, she was a far cry from the dusty, dead weight they’d had towed in.

Now she looked almost... regal.

Gladio caught sight of his reflection in the passenger side window, stepping just a little closer to it. He looked worn out like they all did, hair unstyled, his eyes tired─hardly the picture of the trained, dedicated warrior he was supposed to be. He frowned, sighing, wondering what his father would think of him if he could see him now.

Clarus had never quite been what Gladio would call _proud_ of him. Gladio was an Amicitia, and Clarus took pride in that, but he’d always wondered if his father personally believed in his skills and competency, or if he’d just been deemed ‘good enough,’ put into the role because of his lineage.

However his father truly felt, though, had gone with him to the grave.

Gladio didn’t look up as shadows cut through the light from the door, a slight rattle coming off the metal as someone ducked underneath it. He recognized Noctis’ silhouette from the corner of his eye, Noctis stepping around the hood to the driver’s side of the Regalia.

For a moment, Noctis just studied the car, Gladio quietly observing him. Noctis knew what the pressures of lineage were like, in a way that Ignis or Prompto just couldn’t understand. Yes, they had titles to live up to, but knowing that one’s family had done this for scores of generations, that was effectively in one’s blood and heritage, was an entirely different beast.

Noctis touched the hood, lightly, Gladio noting the round spots his fingers left, little grease marks on her perfectly buffed exterior. “This is all bullshit,” Noctis whispered quietly, shutting his eyes, and Gladio could hear how thick his voice was.

“I know,” Gladio replied.

Noctis opened his eyes, stared down at his own reflection in the hood, Gadio catching all the ugly details of his face, the puffy circles under his eyes, his greasy mess of hair.

_Hail to the king._

\---

Gladio was used to being the beast of burden.

It went with the territory of being naturally six and a half feet tall and built like an ox. People just... asked him to carry things, or lift them, or move them, with the expectation that he’d just jump at the task.

And unfortunately, when Ignis asked him to load the car, he’d jumped, inwardly cursing himself for being weak.

Cor had left the night prior, after giving them (and by them, Gladio really meant Ignis, because he’d been the only one privy to the conversation) instructions to meet him out to set of ruins about four hours west, where Gladio assumed they’d catch up with more of the Glaives and finalize plans to search for the Ring. So that meant it was time to pile into the car and head out that way to reconvene with the Marshal, and in the meantime, he could pull the details out of Ignis.

He’d already managed to make several trips between the trailer and the Regalia, which was now parked beside the pumps at the station, carrying some of the gear and other things they’d accumulated and stashing them back in the trunk. Currently, he was rearranging what he’d already stowed to make room for another sleeping bag, curled into a tight roll, but one that wouldn’t quite squish into the back just how he needed it to. Gladio sighed, sliding the camping stove forward before rotating it ninety degrees and trying to push it back in.

“Doin’ alright there?”

Cid’s raspy voice crackled in the air, Gladio putting his efforts on hold as Cid rounded the hood of the car, heading towards the trunk.

“Yeah,” Gladio replied. “Just doing a little... rearranging.” He gestured to the contents of the trunk.

“I was real sorry to hear about your old man,” Cid said, tapping the roof of the Regalia. “Clarus was a stubborn asshole, but deep down he was a pretty alright fella. Tough as nails, too.”

Gladio glanced down, squeezing the bag in one large hand. “Thank you,” he mumbled.

“He ever tell you we did this?” Cid continued, stopping just shy of the trunk. “Packed up and set out with his friends to do something stupid? Course, this was years and years ago.”

“No, he didn’t,” Gladio replied. Cid frowned.

“Reggie dragged your dad and all of us to everywhere in Eos, high and low. Had some of the best times of my life on that trip,” he said, drumming his fingers on the strut behind the window. “Next time I see ya, I’ll tell ya the story.”

Gladio nodded. “Sure.”

“And look after the royal brat,” Cid finished. “If he’s anything like Reggie was, he’ll turn out okay, but he’ll be a real handful until then.”

“I’ll try.” Gladio shrugged. “It’s kind of my job.”

Cid smiled, patted him once on the arm, and then stepped past him, continuing on towards the sheds on the other side of the lot. Gladio returned his attentions to the bag, sliding it into the back of the trunk with ease.

Thirty minutes later, after some hugs all around and a swap of phone numbers, the four of them piled into the Regalia, Noctis still holding the plates Cindy had pulled off the sedan. They’d been replaced with junk ones from the shop, an attempt to make the Regalia a little less conspicuous, one that Gladio was pretty sure would be relatively ineffectual, given the look of the car, but he’d let them carry on nonetheless. _Couldn’t hurt._

And then Ignis was throwing the car in reverse, and it occurred to Gladio that they were _really_ underway, as he turned around and spotted Cindy and Cid waving goodbye near the door of the garage.

“I always hate this shit,” Gladio said, his voice flat but his expression the picture of enthusiasm, well aware that those outside the car couldn’t hear him. “Always awkward as hell driving off with people watching you. Happened every time we left my Nona’s. She’d have the whole family in the driveway, every _single_ time.”

“Yeah, Iggy, don’t choke and grind the gears now,” Noctis offered. “That’d be nice and awkward.” He ended his sentence with a little grin, and Gladio was relieved to see him smile, even if his eyes still seemed far away.

“Har, har.”

Ignis turned back to face the front, shifting the car out of reverse, giving a lone, quick wave to Cindy and Cid, and then he hit the gas, and Gladio could see his expression go perfectly neutral in the rearview as he pulled away. Beside him in the back seat, Noctis twisted, turning to look out the back window, watching Hammerhead grow smaller and smaller in the distance.

Gladio was about to tell him to keep his eyes forward when Noctis did it of his own accord, turning back around in his seat, tilting his head slightly to peer out the windshield.

\---

It felt good to be moving again.

As odd as it was, Gladio was itching to get away, even though Hammerhead had been relatively safe and had basic comforts. He hated sitting idly by, however, especially with all of this going on around them, knowing that Cor was organizing the Glaives and gathering all their intelligence. Gladio was in the Crownsguard, he was the Shield of their admittedly young, inexperienced King─his sworn protector. He should be _doing_ something.

He felt much more at ease as Hammerhead dipped below the horizon behind them, knowing that they were taking the first few steps towards doing _something._

They’d driven for an hour and a half before electing to stop at the next town that seemed viable, which ended up being a further thirty five miles down the road. Gladio watched the signs fly by, until Ignis was pulling off at an exit, taking them down a two lane road into a town that was really no more than a collection of a dozen buildings arranged in a drag.

But among that drag had been a general store, and they’d spent a good forty five minutes snagging anything they thought they could want or need. Gladio had taken stock of their consumables in the camping gear, grabbing a few gel burners and a ton of batteries of various sizes. Prompto had picked up a couple of cans of aerosol tire inflators, and Gladio found his foresight oddly impressive.

Ignis had grabbed food basics, anything that would keep in the car. Bread, eggs, canned vegetables and stock, dried noodles and to-go meals, coupled with a hefty selection of snacks, most likely to avoid complaints while they drove. Gladio found him a short while later picking through the awful selection of tacky T-shirts for sale, most branded with cheesy tourist slogans.

“My clothes are _disgusting,_ ” he’d said when they’d made eye contact. He was undoubtedly tired of sitting in the same grimy clothes he’d had on since they left the city, which would be closing out their third full day of wear at this point. Gladio could sympathize─his, too, were in their third full day, and neither of them had had the fortune to bring some spare clothes along with them, unlike Prompto and Noctis.

“No judgment,” Gladio had replied, eyeing the rack of XLs next to him.

In the end, they’d both snagged a handful of clothes, shirts and underwear mostly, and Gladio wondered how many more consecutive days he’d be spending in these pants as they checked out. Everything had cleared on his card again, miraculously, but he knew that they’d need to start earning some cash if they intended to stay out here. _Maybe Cor would have some advice on that front._

From there, it had been another two hours of straight driving until they turned off the highway, heading out into the foothills. Prompto proved rather adept at giving directions, navigating them using the GPS on his phone, and Gladio had settled back into his seat, gazing at the scenery whipping by.

Just as he was about to fall asleep, lulled by the motions of the car, they’d pulled over beside one of the SUVs Cor had been in. Just up the hill were some of the Glaives, having already set up a rather impressive campsite in the area.

Never one to be outdone, Gladio had begun unloading the gear with Noctis (who had a better idea of just what was packed in where), starting with the tent, as Ignis went to check in with the Glaives, Prompto in tow. The tent came in several pieces, and Gladio managed to lug them all up the hill before he set about pulling the stakes out, trying to find the best spot to anchor the tent.

Gladio elected to set up just a bit away from the Glaives, to give their group a bit of privacy, and Noctis agreed, laying out all the stakes at the approximate locations while Gladio went hunting for the hammer. He located it in their chest of supplies, strapped to the lid, and wandered over to the first stake, looking up just to see Cor approaching.

“See you made it all right,” he said, looking first from Gladio and then to Noctis. “Drive okay?”

“Yeah,” Noctis said, giving a half shrug, stake in hand.

“So, uh,” Gladio said, hefting the hammer in his hand, “what’s the plan for out here? Iggy just said something about ruins.”

Cor turned slightly, gesturing to beyond where the Glaives had set up. “The ruins are just past the treeline there,” he said, glancing from Gladio to Noctis. “Tomorrow, you all will head down in there, get to the bottom of them, and bring what you find back to me.”

“What is this, a trial?” Noctis said, incredulous.

Cor grinned. “It is.”

“And what’s down there?”

“Something that will help you find Regis’ Ring,” was all Cor offered.

“Insomnia’s a pile of rubble, and you want me to, go, what, digging around in some rocks?”

“Do you think you’re ready to lead an army?” Cor asked, point blank. “Give orders, send men to their deaths? Do you think you’re ready to sit on that throne, and make decisions that will affect thousands of lives, for better or for worse? Do you think you’re ready to wear that Ring and call yourself King?”

Noctis fell stubbornly silent. Gladio gripped the hammer a little tighter, tense.

“Show me you’re brave enough to walk down into those ruins and strong enough to walk back out, and then we’ll talk about the bigger picture.” With that, Cor left them to their work.

Noctis silently returned to laying the stakes out, setting them up in the ground for Gladio to hammer in. The last of the stakes went in just as Prompto and Ignis were returning, Ignis setting off to retrieve the rest of their items from the car. Once the stakes were done, he and Gladio did the rigging and the winches, hoisting up the tent.

Ignis had carried up their purchases and all of the (meager) cooking supplies included with Noctis’ fishing and camping gear, and Gladio had witnessed him stubbornly struggle to carry up the folding counter and grill, having to stop twice on his way over. He’d said nothing, instead focused on getting the first stake in before moving on to the second, starting to hammer it in.

Gladio adjusted the angle on the second stake slightly and then brought the hammer down on it once more with a firm _clack_. He tested the stake, tried to wiggle it, and found it snug, moving on to the next one, and then the next. The rest of the tent went up easy, Gladio doing the winches and making sure the cables were snug, taking a lap around to inspect his handiwork.

Ignis had managed to get the grill going, and was slowly unpacking their purchases from the general store. He’d thrown on the charcoal T-shirt he’d bought, too big for his narrow frame, but it was relatively plain, aside from a small, stupid logo of a white silkscreened lizard on the shoulder.

Gladio, however, was opting to change after he was done with all of their manual labor for the evening. _Might as well sweat it all out in one shirt,_ he reasoned. By the time he had the tent up and was hauling the last of the gear out of the Regalia, Ignis was plating whatever he’d managed to throw together from the general store offerings. It smelled good, better than it had any right to, and Gladio wondered how much his hunger was contributing to his opinion.

Noctis and Prompto were already wolfing theirs down when Gladio finally set down the last of their bags and wandered over to the campfire. They were seated on the far edge of the camp, side by side, and both of them had perked up significantly, though they were still far from what Gladio would call _normal_ or _okay._

Ignis remained at his perch by the grill, leaning against the pop up counter they had, even though Gladio had brought out and set up the four chairs they had, plate in hand, although he seemed to mostly just be pushing it around as opposed to eating it.

He set his own down to hand Gladio a plate, though, but made no move to follow him as Gladio sank down in one of the chairs on the other side of the fire from Prompto and Noctis, instead just picking up his own plate again. After a moment, the awkwardness of Ignis hovering nearby coupled with the silence of having no one beside him, Gladio twisted to look at him.

“C’mon,” he said, gesturing at the other chair with his for. “Sit down. Take a load off.”

Ignis hesitated for a long second, but finally relented, turning the remaining chair slightly with his foot before almost gracefully sitting down, plate balanced in one hand. Noctis took note, standing up and pulling his chair closer to them, and Prompto followed suit, their seats now forming half a ring around the fire.

It was quiet conversation, but it was _something,_ something better than the broken bits and pieces they’d had since they fled, an attempt at normalcy a few hundred miles away from home.

\---

Gladio had always been a little afraid of the dark.

As a child, it was a source of unknown danger, of monsters, both real and imaginary, ready to spring from the blackness beyond his bed, in his closet, and devour him. As an adult, the darkness was still dangerous, but for other reasons; Gladio had learned that monsters more often than not came in a human shape, and that darkness would handicap his vision and perception. An assailant in a dark room was an order of magnitude more dangerous than one in a well-lit area.

Yet at the edge of the Glaives’ camp, standing at the edge of the little creek they’d been using for fresh water, staring out into an endless set of dark scrub and woods, Gladio felt like a little kid again. He knew there were monsters out in those woods, the kind that had frightened him on so many nights when he was just a boy, the kind from fairy tales and legends and ghost stories, the kind their Wall kept them safe from.

There was no Wall between Gladio and them now.

After dinner, he’d tucked his fresh clothes under his arm, grabbed his light, stolen a bucket from the Glaives, and wandered down to the creek to clean himself off. One bucket of cold water was promptly dumped over him, soaking him from head to toe, and that was when he heard the first of their cries in the night.

Gladio could hear them baying in the distance, shrill calls that managed to send a shiver across his skin, filling him with a different kind of cold, one more akin to _dread._ He stood there for a long moment, bucket in hand, staring into the darkness as the water dripped off his skin, hair in his face, wondering just what in the fuck could make noises so terrible.

He’d never seen a daemon in person, he realized. He’d seen photos, sketches and illustrations, video footage, but he’d never seen one in the flesh.

And why would he? Insomnia was safe, Insomnia was so _isolated_ from all of this, protected by Regis and his Wall, and now both of those were no more, leaving all of them at the mercy of the horrors they’d been ignoring for centuries.

 _If it bleeds, you can kill it,_ he told himself.

_Hopefully these fuckers bleed._

He soaped up and rinsed off, shook himself as dry as he could get, then toweled off with his old tank top, and pulled on the new briefs and shirt, still stuck in his white cargo pants. They had another day or two in them, he figured, until they were in _critical_ need of a wash. That was enough to get them through the ruins tomorrow and back on the road.

Iggy could keep the top down if he started to stink, anyway.

After gathering his things, Gladio made his way back up the hill, returning the bucket to the handful of Glaives before trudging back to their campsite. It was deserted save for Ignis, and Gladio was honestly a little shocked he hadn’t turned in with the other two. Ignis had to be exhausted, probably ready to just drop the moment he could be assured that things were safe and under control.

He’d turned his chair away from the fire, perched at the edge of their outcropping, looking down into the dark valley below. The moonlight lit up the creek, turned it into a striking white ribbon that wound through the dark trees. It was rather pretty, Gladio had to admit, even knowing what lurked out in those woods. He sighed, took it in, waiting in front of the tent as he committed the scene to memory.

“Gladio?”

Ignis’ right arm leaned out from behind the chair, fingers curled around the handle of one of the stainless mugs he’d been secretly holding, and then twisted his body to follow, glancing over his shoulder at Gladio and the tent. The lenses of his glasses instantly caught the firelight, making his expression unreadable, but his voice had expressed interest, curiosity, nothing stern.

 _Fuck it,_ Gladio thought. He shuffled over, picked up a second chair, and carried it over to where Ignis sat, setting it firmly beside his. He gave Ignis a curious look, dipping his head in regard to the mug, and Ignis shook it slightly as Gladio sunk down into his seat.

“It’s just... a rather sub-par tea,” he said. “There are more satchets if you’d like some.”

Gladio shook his head no

“Can’t sleep?”

A soft sigh, his fingers dancing on the handle of the mug. “No,” Ignis confessed. “I haven’t really been able to since we left.”

“If you wanna talk about it, you know, we can,” Gladio offered. “Hit us all pretty hard, I don’t mind listening.”

Ignis’ brow furrowed for just a second, and then he turned his head, picking it up and looking away from Gladio. “It will pass,” he said, but even Gladio heard the doubt in his voice.

“Offer stands.”

“Thank you.”

There was a long pause, which Ignis passed by taking a surprisingly large sip of his tea, in a manner far less graceful than his usual standard. Gladio wondered if he was further lost to the exhaustion than he suspected. He’d never really seen beyond Ignis’ wall of careful control and wondered just what it looked like when it came down.

“I mean it,” Gladio continued. “I know we’re kind of formal, you and I─well, you’re kind of formal with everybody, but─but we don’t have to _be_ so...” He trailed off, gesturing between the two of them. “Y’know.” Ignis looked at him, lips pursed into a line. “You can let your guard down just a little. I promise I won’t tell anyone.”

“I don’t believe that being overly familiar with one another would behoove us in this situation, Gladio,” Ignis said, too stiff for Gladio’s liking.

“Overly familiar?” Gladio questioned. “Iggy, c’mon, really? Back when we were in the Citadel, we didn’t always get along, and it was fine because our level of interaction was usually limited to the occasional awkward handoff of Noct. But we’re not there anymore and we sure as hell can’t go back. So forgive me for trying to open up a little with the guy I’ve been sharing a trailer with for the last three days.”

Ignis stiffened. Gladio had never been one to mince words, and that was about as nice as he could have gotten through that. He was a little proud of himself and his coherency, if he were being honest. And his words had clearly hit their mark because Ignis took a very hefty swallow of his tea, licking his lips afterward to chase down a drop that stained his lower lip.

“Apologies,” he murmured. “I’m not...”

“I know.”

Ignis pushed his glasses up again. They hadn’t even slipped down, Gladio noted. Definite nervous habit.

“I haven’t had many people in my life that I can... ‘be familiar’ with, so I trust you’ll forgive me for being out of my element,” Ignis admitted, a light coating of sarcasm on his comment. It was a confession Gladio hadn’t needed; he’d known it all along, from how tightly Ignis managed Noctis’ schedule and their stilted conversations at group events. Ignis was more than married to his work, he was his work.

“First time for everything,” Gladio offered.

Silence again, but the tension was gone. This was manageable, Gladio reasoned. He could work with this.

“I hate tea,” Ignis said, adding a soft, “This was a stupid idea.” His tone was so flat and no-nonsense that Gladio couldn’t hold back his chuckle as Ignis took one last sip, grimaced, and then poured out his mug onto the ground beside him.

“Never in a million years would I have guessed that the man who leaves a trail of grounds in his wake prefers coffee,” Gladio said. Ignis snorted in laughter. It was a nice sound, Gladio thought. One he didn’t get to hear often enough.

Carefully, Ignis set the mug down beside the leg of his chair, before leaning back, rolling his shoulder out in a slow stretch. “How long have we known one another?” he asked, catching Gladio slightly off guard.

Gladio sighed through his teeth. “Fifteen years?” Ignis shut his eyes, raised his brows in slight surprise. “I thought I met you when I was around nine, ten so, yeah, give or take ten years and change.”

“That sounds about right.” Ignis inhaled through his nose, still a little taken aback. “I hadn’t realized it was so long.”

“Thought you would’ve had the date memorized.”

“I only remember _important_ things,” Ignis teased, actually _teased_ and Gladio was honestly shocked, in a good way.

“Then how did you forget the _best_ day of your life?” Gladio fired back.

“Oh, I don’t know, I suppose the same way you forgot the best day of _yours,_ ” Ignis drawled, tilting his head slightly, a wry grin on his face. And then, he reached over and lightly shoved at Gladio's shoulder, playfully, and for a moment, it was like those years of coldness between them hadn’t happened, like they were about to pick up where they left off, and the prospect of that _stung,_ because it wasn’t true, because they’d spent years drifting apart under their own devices.

“Fair enough,” Gladio said, keeping his voice at a perfectly even keel. Before the silence could settle over them again, he cleared his throat. “Are you ready to head down there tomorrow?”

“No,” Ignis replied, not missing a beat, and Gladio frankly hadn’t been expecting that answer. Ignis was always so assured, so confident; even now, out here, there had been relatively few cracks in his composure. Gladio tried to mask his shock as Ignis stole a glance at him, but Ignis had seen, his mouth twisting into a contemplative frown.

_And that’s probably why he doesn’t let his guard down._

“Me, neither,” Gladio added, hoping that Ignis would pick up on the naked honesty in his voice.

Ignis tilted his head and gave a little half shrug. “We’re the Hand and the Shield of the King, Gladio. We’ll just have to manage.”

\---

Gladio hadn’t expected to wake up to his phone ringing.

The damn thing had been silent for days now, and what had once felt like his portal to the world now was just a square weight in his pocket. But in the darkness of the tent, it was buzzing something fierce, urgent, and Gladio fumbled around for it, uncoordinated, still shaking the chains of sleep.

Prompto was to one side of him, facing away, and Gladio did his best not to rouse him. Noctis bracketed him on the other side, and Gladio was certain that a stampede wouldn’t rouse their charge. Ignis framed Noctis’ other side, but Gladio figured he was far enough away not to be bothered by his rustling.

Eventually his fingers found the box of his phone, picking it up and blinking away the blurriness to read the screen.

_Iris._

In a flash Gladio swiped it open, flying out of the tent, yanking the zipper just enough to squeeze his body through like an absurdly large rat through a crack in the wall.

“Iris?”

“ _Gladdy?_ ”

Undoubtedly her voice, a little staticy from the connection, and full of the same hesitation and worry as his.

“Yeah, Iris, it’s me,” he said, relief washing over him. She was alive, she was okay enough to call him. He shut his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose.

She sobbed softly on the other end of the line. The noise was awful, Gladio’s heart seizing up in his chest.

“Hey, hey, I’m okay, I’m fine,” he said, trying to comfort her. Fuck, he wished she were here so he could hug her, could show her in person that he was all right. “Are you okay? Where are you? Are you safe?”

She sniffled loudly, and Gladio could hear her taking a couple of deep breaths, trying to collect herself. “I’m okay,” she said. “I’m with Monica and Dustin. We’re on our way to Lestallum, but there are... there are roadblocks, so...”

“You’re not hurt, are you?” He started to pace, walking to the edge of their campsite. It was still dark, but the first rays of light were beginning to show, dawn starting to paint over the blacks and blues of night with oranges and pinks.

“No.”

Gladio sighed with relief, tension bleeding out from places he hadn’t even known he’d been keeping it.

“Gladio, Dad’s dead,” she said, quietly, sniffling again.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I know.”

There was silence between them, interrupted by the occasional sniffle from Iris, and Gladio found that for the first time since they had left the city his mind was absolutely quiet. Of course, he wanted her beside him, but just knowing that she was alive and unharmed had eased so many of the worries he’d been carrying.

“It’s so, so good to hear from you,” Gladio said, after the minutes had stretched between them. “You stay safe, you stay with Monica and Dustin, and I’m going to head to Lestallum the moment I can, okay?”

“Y-Yeah.”

“And call me. Daily. Plus any other time you need to.”

“Sure.”

“I love you, Iris.” He shut his eyes, tipping his head back just slightly.

“I love you too, Gladdy.”

“Stay safe,” he said, part instruction to her, part prayer to the powers that be.

“You, too.”

Reluctantly, Gladio pulled the phone away from his ear, finger hovering over the red ‘End Call’ button. Sucking in a breath through his teeth, he finally mustered up the courage to press it, the pad of his thumb holding it down for far too long, reluctant to let it go, reluctant to let _her_ go.

He looked over at the sound of the zipper, finding Ignis pulling his leg through the tent, slightly redoing the zip. His expression was concerned, and he raked a hand through his ashy hair, trying to tame some of his bedhead.

“Everything all right?” he asked, taking a step away from the tent.

“Yeah,” Gladio said, and smiled, curling his fingers around his phone. “That was Iris.”

Ignis’ worry evaporated off his face as he picked up on Gladio’s expression. He smiled, too, and despite his earlier doubts about Ignis’ sincerity, Gladio felt it was genuine.

\---

Everything about those ruins said to stay out.

They looked overgrown and undisturbed, the kind of place that would have been cursed by a witch centuries ago, and Gladio could swear he could feel a cold air coming around the pillars that marked the stairwell leading down. Everything was covered in overgrowth so old it had died and that too had subsequently been covered by overgrowth. The stones were cracked and crumbling, the decorum long worn away, lost to the elements. Even the statues of two knights framing the dome were holding only fragments of their weaponry, the sharp detailing of their armor now just vague ridges and dips.

Standing behind Noctis, peering down into the darkness, every cheesy movie line Gladio had ever heard about not going into a place like this popped into his head, one by one.

Morbidly, he wondered which one of them would die first if this _were_ a horror movie.

“The sooner we go in, the sooner we get out,” Noctis said, like it offered any of them real comfort.

But, hey, bless him for trying.

Noctis sucked in a quick breath and started towards the staircase into the ground, Ignis springing to follow him, ever his shadow. Gladio and Prompto exchanged a glance, Prompto shrugging, quickly holding up the hammer Gladio had given him from their gear before tucking it into his belt (because the kid would need something to defend himself with, wouldn’t he?), shaking out his shoulders as he fell in line, Gladio bringing up the rear for the moment.

He rushed down the steps, watching his footing as he quickly caught up to Noctis. “You should be behind me,” he said, and Noctis stopped for a second, like this was news to him.

“Right,” he said, relenting, and held on his step for a beat, letting Gladio take the lead. They were maybe ten yards away from where the stairwell disappeared beneath the earth, a gaping doorway cut into the lowered stone face of the trench.

Gladio wondered if that was where that cold wind was coming from.

He steeled himself, trotting down the remainder of steps to the landing before the doorway, pausing to flip on the tiny work light clipped to his belt. ( _“No, Iggy, a torch is a stick with a rag on it. This is just a flashlight.”_ ) Harsh, blue-white light flooded the doorway, spilling over into the blackness inside, although it didn’t seem to penetrate very deep. Gladio stepped closer, one hand on the doorway, letting the light shine inside and fill the antechamber.

It seemed clear, just stone walls leading into darkness, and Gladio stepped in, letting go of the doorway and walking to the center of the room. He felt Noctis follow, his own beam of light bouncing chaotically around the room as he jogged to catch up to Gladio, both of them slowly wheeling around to take stock of the room.

The ceilings were high, the room square in appearance, and the only other notable feature besides some debris was the doorway directly on the opposite side, leading into more blackness. Gladio padded over to the other side of the room, judging the floor to be sound; it felt that whatever level they were on was the lowest in the cavern, solid earth beneath them.

He reached the second doorway and peered through it, the soft patter of Noctis’ footsteps coming to a stop a few feet behind him. He couldn’t make out really anything in the darkness, not from this side of the door, and Gladio turned and stepped through.

On the other side was what was best described as a cavern, a cave extending far into the darkness, the paved floor tiles yielding to sheer rock and dirt, the bricks in the walls replaced by smooth limestone. Gladio walked to the edge, plucking his light off his belt and holding it out into the darkness, trying to make sense of any of the vague outlines and shapes he could discern.

Behind him, Noctis’ foosteps followed, and then the firmer _thups_ of Prompto’s boots, and finally the _taps_ of Ignis’ goddamn dress shoes, all of them spreading out and trying to assess the shape of the cavern.

“I thought these were ruins, not a cave,” Ignis said, coming up to stand beside Gladio.

“There’s two paths, from what I can tell,” Gladio said, bowling over his comment. “One slightly to the left there, and the other down near the wall on the right. They both go down. Judging from the orientation of the door, I’d say we take the left one.”

“Really,” Ignis said, voice coated in doubt, and Gladio rolled his eyes.

“If we were supposed to go that way, wouldn’t they have built the stairs over there?” Gladio said, gesturing to the wall opposite the second path.

“I don’t know, Gladio, and that’s my point. We don’t know the shape of these caves, or if they’re even traversable. Spelunking is _incredibly_ dangerous, and we should turn back until we have better supplies─”

“Ignis.” Noct’s voice, quiet, but firm. He was clearly uneasy about the situation, and Ignis wasn’t helping.

“People die in caves like this all the time, Noctis,” Ignis countered.

“And I’m pretty sure the last thing Cor would do is send us straight to our deaths,” Noctis shot back. He walked past Gladio, off the stones, and started down the path, pausing a moment for Gladio to catch up. Even Prompto walked past Ignis, glancing at him as he trailed the other two, and Ignis sighed deeply before following, his _tap taps_ muffling in the dirt as he left the stone.

The cave was large enough to easily navigate, bracketed by a set of dripping stalactites and stalagmites on one side, and although a bit winding, it seemed to be a relatively singular path, aside from a couple of short crevices that ended in dead ends. A couple of times it had opened up into larger caverns with higher ceilings, before narrowing back into the cave, like rooms joined by a hallway.

Gladio couldn’t shake his unease, however, and it only mounted the deeper they progressed. As they’d started down into the caves, he could hear scritching and scattered clicks, almost like claws against the stone. Undoubtedly, there had to be creatures living down in these caves; they weren’t sealed off from the outside world. Gladio just figured they wouldn’t be any bigger than the palm of his hand.

After what had to have been an hour, maybe more, of navigating the cave, it widened out into a deep cavern, with a surprisingly low ceiling, the floor sloped down towards a long, narrow pool lined by stalagmites on one side. Gladio had wandered down to it, to assess its depth, but it only seemed to be maybe three to four feet deep, nothing to really worry about. Prompto had followed him, backing up a step and then running, leaping over the gap and skidding to a stop on the other side. He caught his footing, turning and giving Gladio a thumbs up and a smile, made all the more haunting by the white light catching only the underside of his face, leaving his eyes dark pits.

“Not so bad,” he advised. “Just a little slippery, so, watch the landing.”

Gladio leaned over the pool, catching his own reflection in its still surface for a moment, until he heard a loud _click,_ ripples tearing up his mirror image in the water.

Gladio snapped to, scanning the edges of the cavern for movement, peering beyond the stalagmites taking two steps backwards, trying to locate Noctis in his periphery. The others had sensed movement, Prompto clearly on guard from where he stood on the other side of the pool, Ignis rushing towards them down the slope, losing his footing and skidding as something on the other side of the cavern let out a guttural, high-pitched whine followed by a set of clicks that reverberated throughout the cave.

He saw it first out of the corner of his eye on his right, a blur emerging from the darkness, catching just a bit of their light, noting it before Ignis’ half-garbled shout of “ _Gladio!_ ” even reached him. Gladio turned to his right, feeling behind him for Noctis, left arm curling as he raised his shoulder, ducking.

Instinct took over, Gladio simultaneously reaching for something inside himself and beyond himself entirely as he summoned, calling forth his trusted shield from their Armiger, the magic crackling through the air. He knew every ridge, every divot, every bit of ornamentation on that shield, having summoned it thousands of times in his life, and this one was no different. On his arm, it had no weight, but to whatever creature had decided to interrupt their exploration, it would feel as hard as steel, something Gladio was counting on as he pulled Noctis in close behind it.

Only no impact came, just the ear shattering snap of a gunshot, robust and crisp, followed by a second. Gladio lowered his shield, instantly looking to the source.

Prompto.

Rifle still in hand, he was staring down the barrel at _whatever_ it was he’d just nabbed out of midair like it was the most natural thing in the world. He stole a peep at Gladio, before looking back to the black mass on the slope, now down for the count, and then his gaze moved from Gladio up to Ignis. Gladio followed, looking to Ignis to decipher just what in the fuck had just happened, instead finding him almost slack jawed in shock.

“Prompto?” Ignis, voice dripping with disbelief.

“Nice shot,” Noctis said, and his cocky little grin said he’d known about this the whole time.

Prompto lowered his arms, banishing the rifle, now suddenly looking nervous as Ignis stepped behind Noctis.

“Prompto has access to the Armiger?” Ignis said, to all of them and yet to no one in particular. His tone wasn’t accusatory, just bewildered, in an almost impressed fashion.

“Yeah.” Noctis shrugged.

“And you didn’t tell us?” Gladio said, cutting Ignis off before he could do some damage.

“I dunno,” Noctis replied, taking a half step back, glancing at his friend. “It’s just a thing.”

“I’m sorry,” Prompto stammered, holding his hands up. “I... that’s probably not meant for commoners, I won’t do it again─”

“No, what Ignis and I─” Gladio began, breaking off to try and formulate his sentence. “It’s a pretty tough thing, summoning. So we’re just a little... surprised is all. Usually it takes a lot of training to do something like that.”

Noctis rolled his shoulder. “Well, yeah. I taught him.”

Gladio raised his eyebrows and blinked in surprise. He was about to open his mouth to say something further when a blur beyond Prompto caught his attention. But Prompto picked up on it instantly, turning and summoning a revolver in a shower of blue sparks, firing from the hip as another shape emerged from the blackness. His shot hit, the creature whimpering in the darkness, but Prompto kept the gun in hand, trained on it, his second hand braced underneath for support.

In his periphery, Gladio caught the white-blue flash of Ignis summoning, glancing over to see a polearm materialize in his hands, his general go-to weapon. In the darkness, there were more blurs, more high pitched yips and clicks, and Gladio tensed, trying to assess how many bodies were in the cavern. Four, maybe five, and Gladio looked to the corpse on the slope to gauge size.

They were ugly things, whatever they were, with the body of an emaciated hound, and long spindly legs, covered in knobs and coarse gray hair. Their snouts were slender, lined with rows of sharp, needle like teeth, and Gladio felt that they weren’t native to the cave, but rather surface dwellers that had made their home down here.

“Stay close to me,” Gladio instructed as Noctis summoned, calling a sabre into his hands. He nodded, taking a step closer to Gladio, back to him.

The next one sprang out of the darkness at Gladio, jumping across the bed of the pool. Gladio turned, calling his favorite bastard sword into his hands, a beloved weapon that he knew right down to the leather wrapped around its long handle. He swung, downwards, knocking the beast out of the air and sending it skidding along the bank, before dropping into the pool with a sharp whimper.

One charged for Noctis, who was ready with the sabre, keeping it at bay. Ignis wheeled around to help him, just as one leapt from above him on the slope, tackling him at the shoulder and bringing him down. Gladio banished the sword from his hands, trading it for his shield, and bashing the one before Noctis from the side. Noctis finished it off with a quick thrust from the sabre as Gladio looked up the slope.

Ignis was pinned, one forearm shoved under the hound’s neck to keep its muzzle from his face, half curled on his side to keep it from scratching his torso. Gladio started up the slope to help him, but Ignis summoned again, this time a shorter knife, driving it straight under the hound’s ribs, once, then twice, then in at the neck to finish it.

He threw the body off himself a second later, hands bloody as he banished the dagger. Gladio stepped passed him, to where Ignis’ glasses had fallen a few feet away, the metal frames glinting sharply in the white light of their flashlights. He picked them up, checking them for scratches as Ignis pushed himself up onto all fours, and then managed to stand. He had a scrape on his cheekbone and a cut on his chin, but he seemed okay otherwise, accepting his glasses from Gladio with a slight nod, their fingers brushing together for a long moment, and Gladio was startled that Ignis didn't immediately pull away.

“Everybody good?” Gladio asked, looking to Noctis, and then to Prompto on the other side of the pool. Noctis nodded, and Prompto flashed another thumbs up.

After giving Ignis a moment to clean up, rinsing his hands off as best he could, they pressed onwards, through a tighter passage that dropped rather sharply, leading them down into one last barren cave.

Gladio was the first across, Noctis right behind him, and halfway through his light caught the opposite wall. It was smooth, constructed of stones like the entrance had been, with a door flanked by two hauntingly beautiful, ornate statues of knights. The door was metal, old, oxidized in parts, dark rust splattered on it, with clean, geometric patterns carved and extruded on it.

Gladio stopped maybe fifteen feet from the door, taking in the sight, while Noctis moved straight ahead, plowing onwards to that door, clearly driven by his own curiosity. _This_ was what Cor had sent them down to find, whatever it was, and Noctis was clearly determined to uncover the secret.

The sound of metal creaking and warping forced Gladio to attention, immediately zeroing in on Noctis, who stood before the door. The patterns on it now glowed a bright, fiery orange, and Noctis recoiled from the door. Gladio rushed to him, afraid he was hurt, but Noctis turned to him, giving him a panicked shrug.

“I just touched it!” he said, as the door creaked again. Gladio pushed past him, positioning himself between Noctis and the door as it thundered.

He was a breath away from summoning his shield when the door shuddered, the lights suddenly extinguishing, and then it very, very slowly swung open, as if pulled by an invisible force on the other side. Gladio straightened up, trying to peer into the void beyond the door, but he couldn’t make out much except the floor leading inwards.

Noctis darted around him, beelining for the door, Gladio trailing after him as he disappeared into the doorway.

“Don’t just run off─” he began, following Noctis through the doors, falling silent as he stepped into the other room and took stock of their surroundings.

The walls were lined with inlets scalloped into the walls bearing statues, ornate reliefs carved between them. The upper walls bore mosaics, the shiny tiles scintillating as the shone their lights on them, and Gladio kept looking up, up, and up, trying to discern just how high the ceiling went.

Noctis, however, was more taken with the sarcophagus at the center of the room. Stone, impossibly heavy, Gladio wondered how it had been brought down to this tomb, remembering all of the twists and turns they’d navigated to get down here. The lid was sculpted to resemble whatever king’s bones it held, in full regalia. Portions of the armor were metal, not stone, most notably the great battleaxe he held in his hands, blade resting near his feet.

Gladio watched him approach it, stopping beside it, and the image was almost surreal, Noctis standing before the grave of some unknown ancestor, clad in full garb. He looked like... just a kid, not the king he was.

Weren’t they all just kids, really?

Two more sets of footsteps entered the room, coming to a stop just behind Gladio as they all stood in reverence. Beside him, Ignis adjusted his glasses, taking it in, no doubt trying to ascertain just whose tomb they were disturbing, and Prompto quietly wheeled around in awe.

In the silence and the darkness, Noctis reached forward, touching the battleaxe, and a cold wind whipped about the chamber, along with whispers that Gladio couldn’t make out. It increased in intensity, until he caught one word, echoing around the room.

_Worthy._

The axe lit up, a brilliant blue-white, and Noctis drew back, still entranced, but frightened nonetheless. He hesitated for a long minute before reaching his hand out, and Gladio could feel a warning bubbling in his throat, one that he choked back for reasons he couldn’t fully articulate. Noctis reached forward with both hands, shoulders heaving, and then finally grasped the axe. It flashed once, a searing blast of white and , like from a dying star, and then died down to a glow as Noctis pulled his hands away, taking with them a hollow version of the axe, molded out of the same blue light.

Noctis took a step back, releasing his grip, and the axe vanished into a shower of blue sparks, the glow on the sarcophagus dying out as well, leaving them with just their flashlights. They all stood there, in quiet shock, Noctis resting his hands on the lip of the sarcophagus and staring at the unnamed king below.

\---

Night had fallen by the time they returned to the surface.

Cor was away, and it was far too late to speak to him, so instead the four of them focused on readying their campsite. Gladio got a fire going while Ignis sifted through the food they had left, Prompto helping him with the dishes. Noctis straightened out the tent, rearranging their sleeping bags and packs.

They ate in near silence, Noctis nearly falling asleep into his food, and he and Prompto were the first ones into the tent, ready to drop off for a good eight hours. Ignis stacked up the plates, setting them aside to be dealt with as he packed up the grill, humming in surprise when Gladio picked up the bucket he’d left them in.

“I’ll get those,” he said, and Gladio shrugged.

“Let me.” Gladio tilted his head as Ignis opened his mouth to protest. “Seriously. It’s fine.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said, conceding, flipping the latch to lock the grill.

It didn’t take long to get their dishes serviceably clean, any stubborn bits of gunk quickly scraped off by a blunt fingernail before being rinsed off. Gladio threw them all into the bucket, marching back up the hill to their site.  Ignis was still up─he’d agreed to first watch before dinner─humming his thanks as Gladio set the bucket down beside their chest of supplies and the grill.

Ignis looked a little worse for the wear, now that Gladio could get a good look at him in the firelight. Seated close to the fire, trusty fire-poking stick in hand, Gladio could see the knicks and scrapes he’d collected from their scrap in the cave. He had a sharp cut on his cheekbone, something that needed to be properly cleaned and dressed, but might not scar if Ignis got lucky. His face had several smears of dirt on it, the largest over his chin, with a second prominent one at his temple. But his glasses had survived okay, although Gladio could see a scratch on the left lens when Ignis turned his head and his glasses caught the reflection of the firelight.

More importantly, Ignis looked exhausted. He was running on little more than whatever meals he scrounged together for them, canned coffee, and sheer willpower supplemented by four hours of sleep the night prior, and it was showing. Gladio felt a strange pity well up from somewhere deep inside him, a spot he thought he’d long sealed off for any kind of emotional attachments or responses to Ignis aside from ‘mild annoyance’, ‘frustration’ and ‘misplaced desire’.

“I can take first watch,” he offered, from where he stood by the chest. Ignis blinked, startled, raised his brows, and then collected himself. “You look like you could use the sleep.”

“It’s fine. I’ll manage. But thank you for your concern.”

Gladio nodded, gave a half shrug of, ‘I tried, don’t hate me,’ and turned back towards the tent, crouching and reaching for the zipper cord. He was tugging on the zipper when the sound of Ignis’ voice caught his attention.

“Gladio?”

“Yeah?”

“I wouldn’t mind the company, if you’re willing.”

Gladio hesitated, then redid the zip. “Sure thing.” He pushed himself back to his feet, turned back towards the fire, and casually slid his chair over next to Ignis’, who was slowly stoking the fire, pushing one of the smoking logs beneath a fresh one to keep it going.

He set the stick down when he was done, settling back into his chair, and if Gladio were honest, he looked ready to drop off right there. Gladio saw that slow, tired blink, which Ignis tried to cover up by pushing his glasses back up his face. His gloves were gone, Gladio noted, stuffed into the cup holder built into the arm of his chair, and his hand seemed oddly delicate, pale and unmarred.

“Did you have any idea about Prompto?” Ignis asked, breaking the lull.

“With the Armiger? No,” Gladio admitted. “Impressive as hell, though. I’ve never known anyone who can summon a firearm.”

Ignis nodded. “Agreed.”

A comfortable silence filled the space between them, the fire snapping and hissing as it slowly engulfed the remaining fresh logs. Gladio liked this, the five minute opportunity to clear his mind, Ignis sighing softly beside him, closing his eyes for a moment.

“I never thought I’d say this, Gladio, let alone _to_ you,” Ignis began, his eyes still closed, “but I’m glad you came with us out of the Crown City.” 

“Really?” Gladio said. “Write that one down.”

Ignis gave a weak laugh. “I mean it,” he said, rather genuine, and Gladio believed him. For all that Gladio wore his heart on his sleeve, Ignis wore his under several layers, and Gladio had seen him often betray his own interests or feelings for the sake of someone else (and more often than not, that person was Noctis). “Now that we’re out here, after all of this... I don’t think I could’ve managed it with anyone else. And for all the times I was cruel to you back at the Citadel, I apologize. I was arrogant, shortsighted and... incorrect in my assumptions.”

_I was wrong._

Gladio could hear the humility in his voice, and on almost every other occasion, he would be savoring watching Ignis eat his words and just be wrong about something or someone, but here, now, he just felt _bad,_ probably because he’d dished it right back at Ignis when provoked, yet never felt the need to apologize, not even now. He just figured Ignis would as Gladio himself did: get over it and keep moving forward.

“No harm, no foul,” was all Gladio could think to say after that admission. “I gave as good as I got, anyway.”

Ignis reached for his stick, leaning forward to push an ashen, spent log away from the others.

“For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re the one we got saddled with, too,” Gladio continued, hoping the undercurrent of sarcasm would prevent it from sounding too sappy. He leaned forward a bit, trying to peek at Ignis’ expression. Ignis rested his elbows on his knees, turning slightly to appraise Gladio, who leaned further forward.

Ignis had a slight smile on his face, lips slightly parted, like he did when he was distracted by something. He locked eyes with Gladio for a beat, not saying anything, until he swallowed, brows furrowing slightly, his gaze wandering from point to point around Gladio’s face.

Gladio wasn’t quite sure what came over him. Maybe it was the stress of everything they’d been under pushing him to seek comfort, maybe it was the relief that came with knowing Iris was alive telling him to take what he wanted before it was gone, or maybe it was just the culmination of years of a quiet crush finally coming to a swell in the silence by the firelight.

Whatever it was, Gladio leaned towards Ignis, tenderly extending one hand towards his face. Ignis lowered his eyes, shied away a bit as Gladio reached forward, thick fingers brushing against his forehead to push back the hair that had fallen out of place.

But he didn’t pull away completely, instead dipping his head and tilting slightly to his right, arching into his touch as Gladio leaned in, pressed close to the left side of Ignis’ face and then lightly kissed his jaw, before nuzzling into the left side of his neck. Gladio’s hands moved forward with him, snaking around Ignis’ torso, abruptly pulling him closer and perching him on the edge of his seat, their thighs sliding past one another as Gladio nipped his neck, not hard, not wanting it to bruise.

“Gladio,” Ignis sighed, his own hands seeking out Gladio’s chest, ghosting up to his collarbone, “what─”

Gladio stopped, his arms still encircling Ignis, inhaling the scent of his aftershave. “Fuck,” he murmured, “I shouldn’t─”

He pulled back, Ignis’ hands still on his chest, Gladio’s own trailing down Ignis’ legs to rest at his knees. “Sorry,” Gladio murmured, rallying himself to get up and leave before things got more awkward between them, but Ignis’ fingertips dug lightly into his skin, as if he were sinking his claws in.

But Ignis wasn’t shocked, didn’t pull away the moment Gladio did. Instead, his expression was slightly blank, eyes half lidded, curious, and even in the dim light Gladio could see some color rising in his cheeks. One of the hands on Gladio’s chest snaked up to his neck, holding him gently in place as Ignis leaned back in to press a delicate kiss to the corner of Gladio’s mouth. The second hand dropped from Gladio’s chest to slide up his thigh, kneading it, squeezing, appraising. Gladio wanted so badly to cover Ignis’ hand with his own, move it that few inches further, grind into his palm and show him just how he felt about this situation.

Their gazes met, and Gladio closed the space between them, kissing Ignis for the first time on the mouth, licking at his lips until Ignis let him slide his tongue past them, panting between kisses. He could feel the sharp corner of Ignis’ glasses hitting his own brow bone, but decided he didn’t give a fuck, caught up in the moment, too distracted by everything in front of him.

He moved his own hands back to Ignis’ waist, gently teasing his shirt from where it was still tucked into his jeans, Ignis sighing into his neck. Gladio wanted so badly to pick him up and carry him into that tent, where they could have room to maneuver instead of being confined to these crappy chairs or settling for the ground, but that was impossible with His Highness and his royal lapdog already bedded down for the night.

Gladio settled for sliding his hand lower, between Ignis’ legs, savoring the soft gasp Ignis let out, fingers lightly scratching Gladio’s neck, his hips shifting as Gladio cupped his cock through his pants. Fuck, he was _hard._ Ignis, who had to be the least sexual person Gladio had ever known, who had never shown interest in anyone, male or female, was hard and slowly grinding into Gladio’s palm.

It was a welcome invitation to move further if Gladio had ever seen one. He wrestled with Iggy’s belt for a moment, finally undoing the clasp, and then thumbed the button on his jeans open, easing the zipper down with Ignis’ help. His cock was stiff, Gladio pulling back the waistband on his boxer briefs to pull him out, hot in his hand, and Ignis bit back a soft moan.

Their positioning was a little awkward─Gladio had certainly had better than hunched over like this, leaning into his partner’s lap─but it was easy enough to give Ignis a few experimental tugs. The friction was too much, Ignis gasping and rolling his hips, and Gladio pulled his palm away to lick a fat stripe down it before reaching back down.

Ignis had what Gladio would describe as a _nice_ cock, slightly above average in size, decently thick in his hand, but overall aesthetically pleasing to look at, at least as far as dicks went (and Gladio had seen some in his day that he would’ve rather forgotten, glimpses in locker rooms and communal showers that had made him grateful for his own downstairs). Gladio teased him, ran his thumb under the head as he gave him a long, firm stroke, then swiped his thumb over the tip, smearing the precome there down the shaft for some added lubrication. Ignis’ breath hitched, a hot little whisper of _“Please,_ ” urgently murmured into Gladio’s ear, one that sent a quick shiver down Gladio’s spine.

He and Ignis were both looking down at the situation between them, foreheads nearly touching, Ignis’ one hand still on Gladio’s neck for support, his other coming to wrap around Gladio’s fingers to encourage him to grip just a little tighter, move just a little faster, his hips pushing into Gladio’s fist. His lips were parted, slick, and Gladio suddenly wanted to know what Ignis would look like on his knees, those pretty, full lips stretched wide around Gladio’s cock in his mouth, and his own dick twitched hard at the thought.

Ignis broke their kiss, pressing his forehead into the crook of Gladio’s neck, his hand dropping away from Gladio’s to reach for Gladio’s own belt. It was easier to undo than Ignis’, and he managed it with one hand, working the button and fly open after. Teasingly, almost experimentally, he slid his hand beneath the leather, cupping Gladio in his briefs, squeezing him gently. Gladio’s rhythm stuttered as whatever remaining blood he had keeping him functional immediately rushed south, glancing down at Ignis’ hand palming his dick. He pulled his free hand back, snaked his fingers into Ignis’ ashy hair, tugging lightly, feeling Ignis grip him harder in response.

Two of Ignis’ slender fingers pulled back the waistband of his briefs, before his whole hand slipped inside to grasp Gladio, who sucked in a quick breath at the contact. Fuck, it was good, someone else’s hand on his dick, and there was a perverse little power trip in him that relished the sight of uptight Ignis with Gladio’s dick in his hand.

Ignis shoved the waistband down, baring Gladio’s cock to the night air, shifting his head against Gladio’s shoulder as his fingers trailed over Gladio’s shaft, up to the head of his cock, shamelessly leaking precome. Gladio caught a glimpse of his brows raising in surprise for just a second as he assessed Gladio’s cock, thick in his hand. A second later those long fingers curled around his dick and stroked him, firm, from base to tip, and Gladio had to fight not to shout, making an awkward choked noise and pushing into Ignis’ hand instead. That was all the encouragement Ignis seemed to need, his hand finding a steady pace on Gladio’s cock.

And now here they were, Gladio panting in Ignis’ ear while he jerked him off, Ignis sighing into the crook of Gladio’s neck while his own hand worked Gladio’s cock, a tight, firm grip, almost _by the book_ , if Gladio had to describe it. He could feel Ignis tensing up in his arms, saw his hips jerk and stutter as he tried to keep still, and he knew Ignis was close. Fuck, he himself was close.

Ignis bucked up into Gladio’s fist when he came, suddenly, with a harsh little noise that sounded almost like a cough. Gladio stroked him through it, covering the head of Ignis’ dick with his palm, hot liquid hitting his fingers, a vague worry about getting come all over their pants surfacing in the back of his mind, but there was something strangely, stupidly hot about this, about knowing that he’d gotten the straight laced prick to come utterly undone and literally into the palm of his hand.

Ignis took just a moment to collect himself, slightly flushed, his lower lip red from where he’d been biting it, eyes half lidded as Gladio slowly stroked his dick through the last aftershocks of his orgasm, and then he was chasing away Gladio’s hand, leaning forward instead, encouraging Gladio to lie back in his chair and shift his hips forward to give him more access.

Gladio obliged, nestled back in his chair and spread his legs just a bit further, Ignis leaning forward and biting his lip. His eyes were dark, and it was hard to read his expression, but Ignis’ free hand reached for the hem of Gladio’s shirt, shoving it up his torso, fingers skimming over Gladio’s abs, his ribs, lightly brushing over his nipple before wandering back down, resting just below his navel, at the start of the dark trail of hair that led to Gladio’s cock.

Ignis flicked his gaze up to Gladio, surging in to kiss him once they made eye contact. There was no trepidation this time, Ignis’ mouth rough against his, swallowing down the low groan Gladio let out. He kissed lower, lips moving over Gladio’s throat, still working Gladio’s dick, and Gladio tipped his head back, giving Ignis easy access, reaching one of his own hands up to grab at the back of Ignis’ head and tangle his fingers in his soft, thick hair.

Ignis’ strokes were deliberate, squeezing the head of Gladio’s cock with each one, almost literally trying to pull an orgasm out of Gladio, but it honestly seemed to be working, as Gladio’s cock was a slick mess, weeping precome into Ignis’ hand. He could feel that low heat pooling in his stomach, everything tensing up, the muscles in his thighs straining as his skin started to prickle.

And all it took was a harsh, strained whisper of “ _Gladio_ ” murmured into his neck in Ignis’ deep voice to get him to come, tumbling over, his fingers clutching at Ignis and the arm of his chair. He curled inwards, trying to choke down a moan, Ignis covering his mouth with his own in one last hot kiss instead. He shuddered through his orgasm, the relief almost unbearable, a wave of pleasure tearing through him, and then suddenly Ignis’ hand on his cock was too much, too sensitive, too soon.

He grimaced slightly, and Ignis released him, a thin thread of semen and precome trailing from his fingers to Gladio’s cock for a brief moment. He looked unsure what to do with his hand, adjusting his glasses with his clean fingers, frowning at the other. And here it was, Gladio realized, that agonizing moment of realization when they came tumbling out of the haze of endorphins they’d been caught up in, forced to acknowledge that they’d just jacked each other off in some Coleman folding chairs while their other two companions slept not twenty feet away.

Ignis pursed his lips, suddenly seeming to be aware that his dick was still hanging out, reaching down to tuck himself away, back to being prim and proper, even as his other hand was dripping Gladio’s spunk. He stood up abruptly, walked over to the chest that held a bulk of their supplies, swiftly undoing the latches and pushing it open. Gladio busied himself with fixing his own pants, reasoning that he would go and find a wet wipe once he could get up, but suddenly Ignis was standing beside him, offering a wipe pinched between two outstretched fingers, the plastic pack in his other hand.

Gladio glanced at the ground and took it, Ignis turning back to replace the container in the chest. Gladio cleaned himself up, reasoned it would do til he got a chance at a shower of some kind tomorrow.

Fuck, tomorrow. How were they going to do this?

Ignis was still crouched by the chest, back to Gladio, who occupied himself with scrubbing the white stain off the arm of his chair, before balling the wipe up into his hand. Ignis stayed where he was, and Gladio realized he was just going to wait there for Gladio to leave. _Oh._

As he stood up, shuffling to the bag of trash they kept, he wondered if he should say anything, force out an awkward ‘Night’ or at least something to break the silence, but anything just seemed weird now, seemed out of place, like everything they had just done, so Gladio kept silent as he tossed the wipe in the trash bag. Turning back toward the tent, he caught a glimpse of Ignis looking at him over his shoulder, waiting for the coast to be clear, and their gazes met for just a second, before Ignis returned his attentions to the chest.

Gladio unzipped the flap to the tent, ducking inside, listening to the sounds of Ignis shutting the chest and returning to his chair as he repinned and zipped the door to the tent. He hesitated there for a second, a jumble of thoughts still rolling around his head, Gladio trying to untangle them in a haze of fatigue and confusion, before surrendering to the static. Any decision he made tonight would inevitably be the wrong one. He needed to sleep on this, really think it over, let his dick calm down and get the thoughts and the memories (and the fantasies) out of his head.

And so Gladio lay down, shut his eyes, and turned off the rest of the world.


	4. Ignis

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> again thanks to [sordes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/sordes) and [Sauronix](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Sauronix) for keeping me on track

_Idle hands are the devil’s playthings._

_Fine,_ Ignis thought sardonically, staring up at at the dark roof of the tent, listening to Noctis’ quiet breathing beside him, and further beyond, the low rumble of Gladio’s snore. _Let the Accursed come and turn me into his pawn, if it means I can stay here for five more minutes._

_You’re already up. Does you no good to lie here like a lump on a log._

Ignis sighed quietly to himself, shutting his eyes for a brief moment. His sleeping bag was by no means what he’d really even call comfortable, but right now, it felt divine, a bed of clouds cradling him, warm and soft and safe.

Reluctantly, Ignis sat up, trying to quell the nagging anxiety that he was _wasting time_ taking a few extra minutes to wake up as he felt around for his glasses. In the dark, he could make out the rough shapes of Noctis and Gladio, Noctis lying flat on his back, Gladio curled on his side, facing away from Ignis. They shifted from gently fuzzed to clear as he slid his glasses on his face, now able to discern the the rough lines of Gladio’s shoulders, the way his hair spilled over his neck and onto his pillow, how his shirt was slightly pushed up at his hip.

_Gladio._

Ignis bit his lip, his face suddenly hot. Careful not to wake them (although a stampede couldn’t wake Noctis, he knew), Ignis threw back the top of his sleeping bag and stood, feeling his joints creak in protest, stiff and achy from sleeping on such a hard surface.

Wobbling just ever so slightly, he padded over to the door of the tent, fumbling in the darkness for the zipper pull. After a few moments of squinting in the darkness, he managed to find it, unzipping the flap just enough to step out.

Outside, it was quiet, still dark, although the first yellow rays of dawn were already bleeding up along the horizon. Their fire had waned down to a handful of flames licking lazily at one log, and Ignis looked across the campsite to where Prompto sat slumped in his chair, asleep, chin tucked into his chest.

The corners of Ignis’ mouth ticked down into a slight frown. _So much for being on watch._ But the moment he’d articulated that thought, Ignis regretted it, rebuking himself for his quick judgment. Prompto was young, younger than even Noctis, and just an average teenager who’d been dragged along on this whole wild ride because he happened to be Noctis’ closest friend. He wasn’t trained Crownsguard, he wasn’t a Glaive─so what if he’d fallen asleep out here? He was just a _boy._

Ignis stepped over to where Prompto sat, shucking his own jacket off his shoulders and gently draping it over him, surveying his awkward handiwork for a moment. He’d never been good with things like this.

Putting it behind him, Ignis instead turned to their fire, retrieving a fresh log from the small pile Cor and the others had given them. Careful not to extinguish the remaining flames, Ignis pulled one of the spent logs aside and replaced it with the fresh one, arranging them so that it would catch. His sooty fingers were wiped off on a bare spot of his forearm as he made his way over to their supplies, dark streaks against far too pale skin.

He really should get out more. That minimal of sun exposure couldn’t be healthy. _Should maybe look into vitamin D, too._

Those were thoughts from the future. For now, there were things to be done.

It was a laundry list of tasks to keep their camp running, from getting clean water and restocking their firewood, to picking through their food and managing to put something together for breakfast, to cleaning and restocking whatever gear and supplies they used, making sure everything was back in working order.

Ignis didn’t mind it, really. It kept his hands from being idle.

And besides, it was easier to handle it himself rather than try and dictate it to the three of them.

They were simple tasks, mostly (although Ignis would readily admit that he already missed the days when the most manual labor he had to do in his morning routine was turning on the percolator). Go here, pick this up, carry it back. Stack these. Remove, replace. The kind of things that left his thoughts free to wander as he just went through the motions.

And wander his thoughts did.

First it was a quick catalogue of what they should get done for the day (speak to Cor, get eggs if possible, try and call his uncle again), followed by an overview of their more general goals and anything longer term (when was the Regalia due for an oil change?), and then off into vaguer, more generalized sentiments about their situation and those with him (when would they get real word from Insomnia? Did Prompto really think he couldn’t take a joke?), and then, well, they were left to roam without guidance.

Which meant of course they would settle on _Gladio._

Ignis took a shaky breath, setting down the fork he was using to whip their remaining eggs into some semblance of an omelette, setting his jaw as his mind quickly flipped through his memories of the night prior. Gladio, sitting beside him. Friendly chat. Something more serious. Gladio leaning in, touching him, _kissing him._ Gladio’s hand between his legs, _his_ hand between _Gladio’s_ legs, Gladio’s... _cock_ in his hand, Gladio’s name on his lips.

Ignis resumed whipping, trying to ignore the dull thud of his heartbeat in his ears, loud now, not quite racing but certainly elevated.

It was a mistake, one that shouldn’t have happened. And Ignis would make sure it didn’t happen again, no matter─

─no matter his own feelings on it.

Sex, relationships, all of that felt beyond him. He’d been a part of countless conversations where others described ‘hookups’, detailed meeting partners and starting relationships like it was second nature, and Ignis wondered if the hand he’d been dealt in life had simply been missing that card. How did people meet and simply fall into these things? Was there a signal he was clued in on? Not that it mattered, really─his first and foremost priority was always his duties to the Crown, and would always be that way. His life was certainly not lacking for structure or substance.

Somewhere in his teens, he’d married his job. It never occurred to him to ask someone else to come along for that ride.

But... sometimes he still wondered.

He had attractions, sure, to both men and women (and Gladio had been among those), and a handful of awkward one night stands under his belt (all with women, although he’d shared a tipsy kiss with a male classmate back in in his university days). He would even venture so far to say that he _enjoyed_ sex, or at least had the capacity to. But he didn’t have the desire to seek it out; his sex drive didn’t seem particularly high, nothing that his own hands couldn’t handle, and he’d accepted the reality that he would probably spend his foreseeable future alone quite some time ago.

It just wasn’t for him. He was missing that card, couldn’t crack whatever unspoken code there was, and so he’d bundled together whatever remaining thoughts and curiosities he’d had, sealed them up, and set them aside.

Never in a million years had he expected Gladio to lean in and kiss him.

And he never would have expected the rush of arousal and excitement that would stem from that kiss, sending prickles across his skin and heat coiling in his gut.

Then Gladio had pulled back, Ignis still caught up processing dozens of new sensations, finally meeting Gladio’s gaze and finding his expression full of sheer _want,_ eyes half-lidded, lips parted, his pupils blown wide with excitement _._

No one had ever looked at Ignis like that before. Let alone someone that Ignis found attractive, that had been the subject of his thoughts on a few select occasions.

It was _exhilarating._

And it could _never_ happen again.

\---

Patience was a virtue Noctis had never quite grasped.

He was practically vibrating out of his skin as they waited outside the ruins for Gladio to return with Cor, nervously shuffling around in the grass. Prompto had occupied himself with taking some photos of the ruins in the crisp daylight, first with his phone, then with the small DSLR he’d brought. Ignis was lost in his thoughts, a mix of pondering just what had happened down in those tombs that was quickly being overrun by analyzing the brief conversation he’d had with Gladio that morning.

Gladio had been alone with him for a few moments after breakfast when Noctis and Prompto went to clean up and refill the water buckets they had, and Ignis had awkwardly puttered about the campsite in silence, uselessly organizing their cooking utensils.This was the first time he’d really been _alone_ with Gladio since they’d... had their _encounter_ , and Ignis wondered if he should broach the topic, waxing and waning over the possibility while he moved spoons around.

_Well, if you don’t bring up the topic, it stands to reason that Gladio could also never address it, and thus the issue can be avoided._

It was a very stripped and watered down prisoner’s dilemma, really, Ignis reasoned. The best option was to not say anything and bank on Gladio doing the same, as he didn’t know with what likelihood Gladio would want to speak about it. To Ignis, it was settled.

But Gladio hadn’t said anything, instead just giving him his usual friendly grin as he’d passed by with their dirty dishes, stopping for just a second, and Ignis had gone still, trying to not look _too_ suspicious.

“You holding up okay?”

“Pardon?” Ignis had replied, a little worried that Gladio was going to attempt to broach the topic _now._ He couldn’t, could he? That was _far_ too soon─

“Just... wanna make sure you’re doing alright. You haven’t said anything about your uncle, and I know part of that is on me for not asking, but....” Gladio had shrugged, and Ignis had eased, realizing that what had transpired between them wasn’t a topic for discussion at the moment.

“I’m as well as I can be, all things considered,” Ignis replied. “Thank you.”

“Least I could do,” Gladio had responded. “Don’t want you killing yourself trying to take care of our dumb asses.”

Ignis had laughed it off, said something sarcastic in reply, and then Gladio had shifted the plates in his hand and continued on to clean them. As he left, Ignis had felt a little relieved, silently reaffirming his decision to not speak of their encounter.

Now he pondered it, mulled over Gladio’s words. Had Gladio really intended to speak of what happened between them, and Ignis’ reaction had put him off enough to backpedal? Or had that thought never occurred to him, did he not consider what transpired last night important enough to warrant discussion?

_Either way, it doesn’t matter._

Ignis whipped his glasses off, cleaning them with the bottom of his shirt to distract himself. Cor would be here soon, and then they could just move on with things, devise a plan and head out as soon as possible. They’d need to get the campsite together, repack their items and take whatever additional supplies they could carry, and they’d need a way to start funding this venture if they wanted to keep putting gas in the Regalia. Could they sell anything they had? Most of their luxuries had been left─

“Hey, Ignis, I’ve got a question for you,” Noctis said, sitting down on the crumbling retaining wall. He cast a glance at Prompto, who had wandered far out of earshot to photograph a cluster of flowers.

“Certainly.”

“What’s, like, involved in joining the Crownsguard? I kinda know, but lay the details on me.”

Ignis sucked in a breath through his teeth. “For consideration, it’s a four year degree and a clean criminal record. There’s a written exam, and a physical standards test─”

“Okay, but do you need all of that to do the rites?”

“Excuse me?”

“The oath, or whatever it’s called.”

“Oh.” Ignis pushed his glasses up his face. “Technically, no, the Oath can be given to anyone, at the King’s request. There are no formal qualifiers.”

“Really?”

Ignis nodded. “In modern times it’s evolved to be an order, but for most of the dynasty the only qualifier has been selection by the ruling King.”

“And the Oath is what makes it official?”

“Yes. Once you take the Oath, you are a member of the Crownsguard for life.”

“Good to know.” Noctis shoved his hands into his pockets, suddenly leaning to look past Ignis. “Thanks.”

“Of course.” Ignis himself twisted to look over his shoulder, spotting Gladio and Cor coming down the hill.

Everyone’s attentions focused on Cor as he strode over to them, to their little ragtag assembly of a cabinet. Ignis had always known Cor to be more of a loyal soldier than a leader, but still, his presence was commanding, and he certainly had a handle on directing the Glaives and staying abreast of their situation. Under different circumstances, Ignis reasoned, Cor would’ve made a fine commander, and perhaps this would be his chance to take on such a mantle.

“Did you find it?” Cor asked, crossing his arms over his chest as he came to a stop before Noctis.

Noctis nodded. “I think I did.”

“And?”

Noctis took a step back, and the air crackled as he summoned, holding his hands out before him as the axe materialized between them in a flash of blue light. It faded, leaving Noctis holding the greataxe, now opaque and the color of tempered steel. He hefted it in his hands, and although Ignis knew that although to Noctis it had little weight, that blade would strike true if Noctis swung it.

Cor tilted his head up and smiled ever so slightly, a proud grin ever so slightly tugging up the corners of his mouth. “Well done.”

“Thanks?” Noctis didn’t sound _too_ rude, he just seemed confused as to why Cor would pay him a compliment. It was unfortunately typical behavior of him, to question everything and to _show_ that he questioned everything, and Ignis found himself secretly wishing, like he frequently did, that Noctis would just drop the skepticism out of his voice.

“Do you know what you’re holding?”

“An axe,” Noctis said flatly.

“Not just an axe,” Cor corrected. “The axe of the Conqueror.”

Noctis’ brow furrowed in concentration, and he banished the greataxe with a shower of blue sparks, now looking expectantly to Cor. “Who?”

“The─”

“The forty-third king of Lucis,” Ignis interjected. “Magnus Lucis Caelum.”

_Died in 88AD, purportedly due to fever in the winter, although an emerging theory suspects he was poisoned. Known for further opening trade with Accordo and for extending the southern border of Lucis, a move which strained relations with Galahad and may have led to─_

“Yes,” Cor said, and Ignis pushed his glasses up his face, looking away. He hadn’t intended to speak out of turn, especially with the Marshal, and he hoped Cor wouldn’t take it personally (although he suspected and hoped that Cor had known him long enough to realize that Ignis wasn’t looking to upstage him). Sometimes these things just happened, facts or anecdotes or an answer just bubbled up and before Ignis could stop himself it had come out. There was no desire to be the center of attention, to show off his intellect; no, it was just a simple matter of having the right answer, on hand, and readily offering it in the pursuit of dispensing that knowledge to those around him.

“Shortly before your father assumed the throne,” Cor continued, “he travelled across Lucis, seeking the blessings of your ancestors, of the Kings of Yore. He intended to have you do the same after you wed Lady Lunafreya, but...” Cor broke off to sigh.

Noctis was silent for a long moment. “Why didn’t my dad tell me all of this?” he said at last, and Ignis could hear the hints of anger laid under his words. “I mean, I knew a little, but...”

“He didn’t want to burden you further, not with the wedding and the peace treaty,” Cor replied. “He would’ve told you; he just didn’t feel the time was right.”

Noctis shook his head slowly, turning his body away from Cor, leading with his shoulder. No doubt he was feeling overwhelmed by all of this, angry that all of this had been kept from him, and that he had, as Noctis would put it, been treated “just like a little kid.” Ignis supposed he could understand that.

But by the same metric, he’d also watched Noctis shirk his responsibilities time and time again, more interested in living his life on his terms than preparing to inherit his family’s legacy.

“Okay, I found the axe in the tomb,” Noctis began, still facing away from Cor. “You gonna tell me why you really sent me down there?”

“I wanted to know what he thought of you,” Cor said, unchallenged. “And if you could handle a few scrapes.”

There was silence for a moment, Cor shifting his weight from foot to foot. “The throne isn’t just a chair you get to sit on, Noctis. And if you want to take it back you’re going to face a lot worse than a couple of ugly mutts in the dark.”

“Can we not do the speech?” Noctis’ tone was undoubtedly tense. “I don’t... I just need to know what we do now, okay?”

He turned back around, and Cor inhaled deeply, rubbing one hand over his mouth for a moment. “Iedolas took the Crystal to Gralea, and right now we don’t have the numbers and the resources to mount any kind of effort to take it back, covert or otherwise. We need allies before we can do anything.” He paused for a moment, looking past Noctis to Ignis to Gladio. “We should start with Accordo. They’re not exactly friends of the Empire, and they may throw support to us, if we spin the right story.”

“I would think any support they would offer us would be discreet and strictly monetary,” Ignis commented. “At least until such time as we locate the Ring. But it would certainly buy us time, and hopefully the means to continue.”

Cor nodded.

“So we take him to Altissa,” Gladio commented.

Ignis nodded. “We could take a ship from Galdin Quay, if we’re lucky and the Empire hasn’t shut the port.” He sighed. “Although I suppose navigating the roadblocks down to the Quay is going to prove challenging.”

“Nothing like a little excitement,” Cor said, and it was the most jovial Ignis had seen him in weeks, possibly months. “I’m sure you boys’ll figure it out.”

“Shouldn’t we travel with some of the Glaives?” Gladio asked, and Ignis pondered that proposition. It wasn’t a _bad_ idea, he reasoned. There was a certain safety in numbers that Ignis couldn’t deny, but with the Empire keeping watch everywhere...

“Too large a group could attract suspicion,” Cor clarified. The comment hung in the air for a moment, sinking in with all parties.

Nocti waved a hand to dismiss that portion of the discussion. “We’ll figure out some way to get there. Once we’re in Altissa, am I just supposed to just hold out my hand and ask nicely for some money?” Noctis looked from Ignis back to Cor. “I mean, I’m pretty good at that already, but I’m not sure how it’ll work at the level of international diplomacy.”

“I can pull strings once you’re in the city, put you in touch with people who were friendly to your father,” Cor said. “I’m sure they can get you an audience with the right people. And then, yes, hold out your hand and ask nicely.” His smile at Noctis was patient, no longer quite so gruff around the edges, and Noctis picked up on it, judging from the way the corners of his mouth reluctantly ticked upwards.

\---

Ignis had never been... _stellar_ with apologies.

Nonetheless, he’d been alone with Prompto for twenty odd agonizing minutes now, neither really saying anything as they packed up the remainders of their campsite. Gladio was loading the car (bless him and his upper body strength), and Noctis had been dispatched, map in hand, to get whatever information they could out of the Glaives about encampments, roadblocks, and anything else that might impede their drive to Galdin.

Which left Ignis and Prompto to handle dismantling and packing everything they’d set up.

Ignis had begun mulling over his apology speech five minutes in, as he stacked their sleeping bags for Gladio to carry down. After ten minutes, he had it just about down, but it would take another ten to debate himself on whether or not he _should_ apologize.

He didn’t _owe_ Prompto anything. Prompto was Noctis’ friend; their relationship was one based on having a mutual acquaintance, the transitive property adapted to social interactions. They had no common ground, and Ignis would be hard pressed to say he _enjoyed_ Prompto’s company on most occasions.

There wasn’t anything wrong with him, Prompto was just... younger. A lot younger. He was vivacious and a little rambunctious, the kind who acted first and thought second, but always had good intentions.

And it wasn’t as though what he had done was needlessly cruel or malicious. Prompto did not have a defined function in Noctis’ retinue the way he or Gladio did, and accounting for an extra body in terms of safety and resources, especially in their situation, was a lot to consider.

But Prompto was important to Noctis, and Noctis was important to Ignis. So he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he would apologize, if only to maintain the harmony.

“Do you have a moment?” Ignis asked, closing the chest he’d been loading. He reached for the latch as Prompto hesitated, shifting his weight from foot to foot.

“Yeah, sure.” Prompto stuffed his hands into his pockets.

Ignis stood, setting his jaw for a second while he polished up the speech in his head. “I wanted to apologize,” he began, “for my actions the night we left Insomnia.”

Prompto didn’t say anything, just looked away with that typical teenage boy nervousness. It was clear he didn’t want the apology as much as Ignis didn’t want to give it.

“In the parking garage,” Ignis clarified. “I’m sorry for how I acted towards you. I... want you to know that my actions then have no reflection on how I view you as a person.”

Prompto shrugged. “Water under the bridge. I, uh, I mean, I get it.”

Ignis cocked a brow.

“Noct’s... Noct. He’s the, well, he’s not even the Prince anymore, he’s King now. And I know that you and Gladio are....” He pulled one hand out of his pocket to gesture in a small circle.

“Noct is my charge, yes, and his importance cannot be understated, but that doesn’t make my actions entirely... appropriate,” Ignis clarified.

“I... I mean, I don’t _like_ what happened, but, I get it.” Prompto looked up at Ignis with surprising gravity in his eyes. “Things are pretty bad, and y’know, desperate times, desperate measures.”

Ignis nodded slowly, feeling slightly resigned at Prompto’s callous perception of him. _Was_ he that heartless?

“Anyway, it’s fine. Thanks for the apology.” Prompto popped his hand back into his pocket. “I’m good, if you are.”

“Of course.”

\---

Ignis never really minded driving.

Sometimes he minded being _behind the wheel,_ especially if there were traffic or construction or anything that would impede his ease of travel, but the act of driving, hands on the wheel, foot dancing from pedal to pedal, transmission in gear, with two thousand odd pounds of steel responding to him, well, driving was always a joy, really.

And contrary to what Noctis like to say, the Regalia wasn’t _that_ ungainly to drive. Long, yes, so one had to watch the turns, but she had incredible power under her hood, and the features inside more than made up for any extra effort that had to be spent to handle her.

He would never let on about this, of course. Let the others think he viewed it as a chore

Thus the prospect of an eleven hour drive down to Galdin Quay didn’t startle him. It was a day and a half’s drive, and they would overnight somewhere along the way. While Ignis usually trusted Noctis in the driver’s seat of the Regalia, he didn’t feel it would be wise to make his charge drive at present. The drive out of Hammerhead had been smooth, with just smatterings of refugees and light traffic, but they had been largely heading away from civilization for that. Heading to Galdin would be another matter entirely.

News of Imperial control of the roads had spread quickly in the wake of Insomnia’s fall. There were roadblocks in place (Cor had marked out all those he was aware of for them) and the Imperials were also now cracking down on those travelling after dark─citing safety concerns, of course, but Ignis knew it was more likely that it was more difficult to track civilian movement at night.

Before leaving, Ignis had swapped his civilian IDs with a Glaive who looked enough like him to match from a passing glance. He’d made sure Gladio had done the same, but they hadn’t found anyone who looked remotely close enough to Noctis to warrant a switch.

_Probably best to hide him in the trunk, anyway._

The car itself was ostentatious, but it _was_ a civilian model, at least, albeit with some customization. With the plates gone it was passable that they could claim they were just wealthy and not _royalty,_ which was something Ignis was banking on to get them out of Lucis.

He had more than a few hours to think about this, at any rate, as they worked their way southward.

This time, Noctis sat beside him in the passenger seat. He was in notably better spirits, and seeing him fired up and so determined in the wake of His late Majesty’s death and the fall of Insomnia had given Ignis a kind of assurance. He’d spent years tutoring and guiding Noctis for when he would assume the throne, worrying all the while about how he would perform, and now, in the wake of his impromptu accession, Ignis’ anxieties had eased just a hair upon seeing Noctis more determined than he ever had.

Gladio was in the back seat on the driver’s side, quietly absorbed in whatever book he’d bought. Prompto leaned against the window, aimlessly watching the scenery crawl by. Occasionally there was chatter, but for the most part it was silent, Noctis scrolling through his phone rather than engage with any of them.

Ignis briefly wondered if the radio still worked, if there were still broadcasts running, but he reasoned if there were, they would simply be messages for refugees or Imperial propaganda, and he doubted that any of them needed that at this moment. He passed, resigning himself to the quiet, but also making a note to snag some music the next time they had an opportunity.

They’d been driving for an hour and a half when Noctis asked to stop.

There was absolutely nothing around, no town, no rest stop, not even a particularly good _view,_ just patches of scrubby desert extending on for miles, and an immediate slew of concerns about Noctis sprang to the forefront of Ignis’ mind. _Did he feel sick? Was he in pain? Could he not handle this stress?_

“Certainly,” he replied, voice perfectly even, as always.

He pulled to the side of the road, downshifting, and then put the Regalia in park when they were securely on the shoulder. Noctis finished looking at his phone, and then opened the door, motioning for them to follow.

Ignis opened his door and stepped out, rounding the hood. Noctis had his phone still out, pulling up something on the screen, before looking up at the three of them. He ignored their curious glances and instead handed his phone to Prompto, gesturing at the screen.

“Since Prompto’s coming with us,” Noctis began, looking to Gladio and then over to Ignis as he came to a stop at the passenger wheel well, “I wanna make it official.”

“Make what official?” Gladio asked from where he stood near the trunk.

“Ignis said that all you really need to do to join the Crownsguard is to take the oath. So, Prompto...” he trailed off, gesturing at his phone again, “... that’s the oath.”

“You... want me to...” Prompto glanced at the phone in his hand.

“If you’re up for it,” Noctis said.

Ignis blinked. He felt like the floor, the _ground,_ had just gone out from underneath him, head spinning as he tried to process what was going on before him. Was Noctis really offering this duty, this _privilege,_ to a completely unqualified _boy_ just because he was Noctis’ _friend_?

Ignis had worked nearly his whole life to be accepted into the Crownsguard, through countless hours of study, of training, of learning protocol and procedure, years of pushing himself to his limits to be the _best,_ chasing after an opportunity that so many sought and finding the drive to _beat_ all of them. Gladio, he knew, had done the same, even with his family’s legacy, training under his father and the Marshal, mastering his physique and a variety of weapons, conditioning himself to extreme conditions and situations.

And Noctis was just handing it to Prompto.

Ignis scoffed at his earlier thoughts regarding Noctis’ preparedness for his role. He was a _child,_ for lack of better phrasing, and any sentiment that Ignis had that he may be taking his duties seriously evaporated in that moment. What Noctis had just done was a veritable slap to Ignis’ face as well as Gladio’s, to the years they’d spent preparing for their duties and earning their titles.

“I don’t think this is wise, Noctis,” Ignis said, folding his arms over his chest. “At least, not at present.”

“Well, it’s my decision,” Noctis countered, “and Prompto’s.” He looked back to his friend, and Ignis exhaled slowly, shoulders sagging, resigned, the ringing in his ears drowning out any other noise.

He saw Prompto kneel, watched his mouth move, undoubtedly reciting the same oath that he and Gladio had each taken years ago. There was a flash of blue as Noctis summoned, calling a balanced sabre into his hand, tapping it to Prompto’s shoulders, one after the other, and then Prompto stood, handing back his phone as Noctis beamed. It all seemed a little surreal, like Ignis were watching it on a screen instead of in actuality, and he stood there, unfocused, until Gladio tapped him on the shoulder.

“Ready to go?”

“More than,” Ignis replied.

\---

Ignis made them stop just before sundown.

He’d been keeping an eye on the signage for rest areas for the last hour, gauging how far they should go before nightfall set in, and had settled for whatever town was 45 miles out. He could continue driving, he knew, but this wasn’t like Insomnia, where the worst dangers on the road late at night were the occasional drunk or distracted driver; things out here were far more aggressive and vicious. They’d be in Galdin by tomorrow night, at any rate.

The remainder of the drive had been crowned by a remarkably tense silence, one that Noctis didn’t seem to be aware of, but whether it was through naivete or active ignorance Ignis couldn’t be sure. He wanted to blame the former, just chalk it up to Noctis being immature and not perceptive enough to realize what he had done, but he couldn’t be entirely sure of that, not now.

The reality was, Noctis had done what he wanted, and he’d used his title to go against Ignis’ advice. It wasn’t the first time it had happened, and Ignis knew it certainly wouldn’t be the last, but this instance, and Noctis’ complete disregard for the gravity associated with being a member of the Crownsguard, had been particularly egregious.

But he’d have to let it go.

Ignis pulled off at the exit, abandoning those thoughts on the highway. He’d wasted enough time stewing about it.

The rest stop turned out to be a tiny strip of civilization, a quarter mile main drag with a few shops and one motel. It wasn’t deserted, like Ignis had been expecting; rather, there were throngs of people visible in the shops and the one restaurant, and most of the parking spots were full.

Ignis realized they’d need to prioritize as he continued down the main drag, noting other drivers both coming and going. They needed lodging first, and so Ignis had pulled straight into the motel lot, finding parking long enough to fit the Regalia near the glowing neon sign out front.

Ignis had the door open and had stepped out before the others even realized they’d stopped, and he was already cutting across the parking lot to the concierge’s office by the time they’d managed to get the doors open.

He didn’t bother waiting, instead pushing the door open and stepping inside. It was a tiny, somewhat cramped office, one that had certainly seen better days, with fading posters and outdated linoleum floors that had chipped in a few spots. But the man behind the counter seemed friendly enough, setting down his curling magazine and looking up as Ignis approached.

Ignis opened his mouth to speak, but the proprietor cut him off with a raised hand. “I’ll stop you now, son,” he began. “We’re full up, and the back’s already taken.”

“Really?” Ignis twisted the keys in his hand, looking over as the door opened again. Gladio stepped in quietly, flashing Ignis a quick smile.

“They don’t have any vacancies,” Ignis explained. Gladio cocked a brow, glancing at the proprietor for more info.

The old man nodded. “Everybody comin’ out of the city’s stoppin’ here. Most are goin’ to Galdin or Lestallum.” He sighed. “You’re welcome to stay in the lot if you want, provided you don’t make much of a mess.”

“Thank you,” Ignis said. “That’s very generous of you.”

The proprietor waved his hand again, not dismissively, but rather to show that the thanks wasn’t needed. “Or, if you two can handle it, there’s a haven a quarter mile or so down the road.”

“A haven?” Gladio repeated.

“Yeah,” the proprietor said, nodding. He licked his fingers and then reached for something under the desk, lifting it and setting a stack of pages on the counter, starting to leaf through them. “You’re hunters, ain’t ya?”

“Yeah,” Gladio said, sounding confident in his answer, but he gave Ignis a little shrug. _Just roll with it._

“You should be able to spot it no problem, then.” The proprietor held out one of the sheets, and Gladio stepped forward, taking it. “That’s if you’ve got some time on your hands.”

“Thanks.” Gladio nodded, giving a little wave to the proprietor. He quickly glancing at Ignis, turning towards the door and backing out, pushing the door open and holding it for a moment to make sure Ignis was following.

Ignis dipped his head, adding a quick “Thank you,” before following Gladio out the door and back outside. Dusk was rapidly creeping up on them, everything now more saturated, glossed over with the faint orange glow from the setting sun. Ignis inhaled sharply as he looked to the horizon, taking a few steps to catch up to Gladio.

“Well, you wanna try it?” Gladio asked, staring off down the road.

“The haven?” Ignis looked back to the Regalia, trying to imagine himself sleeping in the driver’s seat, and then trying to imagine _Gladio_ sleeping in the back seat, knees at his shoulders. “I don’t see why not, unless you had your heart set on sleeping in that back seat.”

“Don’t you even joke.”

\---

Magic had always fascinated Ignis.

He could feel the charge in the air the moment they stepped on the stone landing of the haven after wandering up the path from the road, his gaze dancing amongst the runes carved into it, glowing faintly blue in the night air. It was different than the crackle he could sense when they summoned, or when Noctis would warp by, the kind that raised the hair on his arms and the back of his neck. This was stronger, older, not quite so sharp, but a tingle that settled into Ignis’ bones and lingered there.

Ignis enjoyed order and clarity in his world, reveled in hard and fast answers he could support with facts derived through study and measure. Magic defied all of that, flew in the face of reason, and Ignis had struggled for years to reconcile the two in his youth. There was no sound reasoning as to why summoning worked, there was no science governing the messengers or the Crystal or how exactly the wall functioned.

Eventually he had learned to accept that there were things beyond his comprehension, things that simply _were_ as they were, not subject to the laws that dictated their natural world. It was a grudging sort of acceptance, and Ignis had never really stopped questioning, but he had ceased to let these things stump him and bother him for hours at a time. Accepting the limits of one’s knowledge was always a sign of real intelligence, Ignis reasoned, and admitting that he just couldn’t understand some things had forced him to swallow some pride, but he’d come out better for it.

Thoughts of just who had built them, had carved these runes into the rock, and who had enchanted them, and just _how_ those enchantments not only worked but had lasted the tests of time popped up as Ignis set about organizing their camp. Gladio had mentioned some links to the Oracle and line Nox Fleuret, but beyond that there wasn’t much known about them, just that the runes warded off the daemons late at night.

Ignis mulled that statement over as he’d hauled up some of their supplies while Gladio managed to carry up all the parts to the tent, the whole scene painted in the pink-orange of sundown. He paid particular attention to the runes as he helped Gladio get the tent up, Noctis and Prompto responsible for getting the fire going. A short while later things were all running smoothly─the tent was up, the cooking supplies all laid out and ready to go, the fire snapping and crackling away.

It was then that Noctis had shuffled around for a few moments, as if looking for something to do. “I’m gonna head down to the pond,” he said, blase, as if they were all just out for a weekend of fun in the wilderness.

“It’s almost dark,” Gladio countered, still crouched as he adjusted the tension on the straps of the tent.

Noctis shrugged. “I’ll come back with dinner,” he offered in return. “You can see the pond; I’m not going that far.”

Ignis drew in a breath, but said nothing. Gladio threw Noctis a quick, “Be careful,” and then Noctis was off, Prompto joining him a moment later, Gladio shaking his head in resignation the moment both boys had turned their backs.

“All right,” Gladio said, standing, snagging one of their folded chairs and shaking it out. “How much says he comes back empty handed?”

“What currency is this wager in?” Ignis replied, and Gladio laughed. “Also, I doubt it’s proper protocol to bet against our charge.”

Gladio laughed, sinking into his chair. As his laughter fell away into silence, replaced by the chirping of whatever insects were denizens of these woods ( _cicadas, perhaps? or katydids?_ ), Ignis felt that mantle of awkwardness settle around him.

Gladio checked his phone, settling back in his chair. Ignis picked up his own chair, pulling it open, vaguely aware of Gladio’s stare on him.

Instead of sitting beside Gladio, however, Ignis abandoned his chair, instead opening up the grill. It would still be too awkward to sit beside him, the events of the night prior too fresh in his mind. This was the first time he was well and truly alone with Gladio since their... _encounter,_ and although Ignis still had no intention to speak of it, he didn’t want to linger around in similar circumstances that had gotten them into that mess in the first place.

Gladio opened his mouth once, as if to say something, but quickly shut it, remaining silent as Ignis worked, and Ignis assumed that he had picked up his phone once more. He went about unlatching the grill and removing the cover, setting the racks in, and much to his surprise when he glanced at Gladio, Gladio was just quietly staring off in the direction of the pond.

Ignis opened up the chest holding miscellaneous equipment, crouching and hunting for the lighter next. He’d just get the grill going, and the figure out what they were going to eat, since Noctis would undoubtedly─

“─but that line was _this_ close to snapping! So lucky, man.” Prompto’s voice, bright and cheerful.

Noctis’ laughter followed. “I know.” A pause. “But hey, I pulled it off.”

By the time Ignis had found the lighter and stood back up, Noctis was approaching, proudly holding up two fish strung up on a segment of line, Prompto trailing just after him.

 _Their King and his retainer, hard at work,_ Ignis mused. Begrudgingly, Ignis was admittedly impressed; he would have lost money had he taken Gladio’s bet.

“Told you I’d come back with dinner.” Noctis gave a quick, cheeky grin as he held up the fish a little higher.

“And that you did,” Ignis said as Noctis held out the line. “Well done.” Ignis put the lighter down and reached for the fish, laying them along an edge of the counter.

“Thanks,” Noctis said. “They didn’t go down without a fight.”

“Well, your efforts were certainly not in vain.”

Thirty minutes later, Ignis had them cleaned and prepared while the others lounged around the fire, the fillets and goujons laid out on a plate, ready for the grill. Cleaning fish had never been his favorite task, but it was simple enough─cleave the head, cut down the belly, clear out the guts, remove the skin, pluck the bones, and cut the fillets. The fish Noctis had brought weren’t too large so as to be ungainly, and the longest task had been prying the bones out, although a paring knife had helped speed up that process.

Before he’d started on the fish, Ignis had sliced and lightly seasoned the root vegetables he had on hand, stuffing them into a foil boat and depositing that on the grill to cook beside the fillets. He checked the packet before laying out the first two fillets with a pair of tongs, the grill sizzling happily as the juices dripped down to the grease tray below.

Ignis had been distracted by his own thoughts, trying to recall the last time he’d cleaned his own fish, the last time he’d even done fish on a grill ( _where was a cedar plank when he needed one?_ ), and he hadn’t noticed Gladio approaching until Gladio was nearly on him.

“Need a hand?” Gladio asked, but his tone said that even if Ignis _didn’t_ he wouldn’t be going anywhere.

“Sure,” Ignis said, and gestured to the plate with the tongs. Gladio picked it up, holding it out to Ignis, who pulled off another two fillets and placed them on the grill. Gladio sighed, deeply, and set the plate down, pushing it a bit towards the center of the counter. They were silent for a moment, Ignis leaning back to peer around Gladio and check on Prompto and Noctis.

“I wanted to get you earlier, when it was just us, but...” Gladio paused, brows pushed together, looking up and to the right as he composed his thoughts, “...are we just not gonna talk about this?” Gladio gestured between them to emphasize just what _this_ he was referring to. Ignis blinked a few times in surprise, and then returned his attentions to the grill.

So _this_ was it, then. Clearly he’d been wrong about the odds on Gladio.

“I... hadn’t assumed that there was anything _to_ discuss,” Ignis said, aggressively pinching one of the fillets with the tongs. “It was a fumble─”

“Did you not like it?” Gladio shifted his weight, took a fraction of a step closer to Ignis, who didn’t look over. “Cause, I mean, you seemed kinda into it at the time.” He didn’t sound snide, or like he was goading Ignis on, he just sounded like he wanted an honest answer, earnest and a little frustrated.

_I did, I liked it more than I want to admit, to myself, to you, to anyone._

He swallowed thickly, breathing through his nose, teeth grit, lips drawn into a line. _Just tell him no, just tell him you didn’t enjoy it. You don’t need this, not when there’s so much to do, not when there’s all this on the line._

“I did,” he said, quiet, rushed, head spinning, suddenly aware of how close Gladio was standing to him.

Gladio took that as an invitation to step even closer, closing Ignis off from the campsite and any line of sight to Noctis or Prompto. He lowered his eyes, leaned in slightly, and Ignis figured to the other two it probably looked like he was just examining the grill, not staring at Ignis so intensely that it looked as though he wanted to either devour him or break him.

Ignis quickly flipped one of the pieces of whitefish, drawing in a shaky breath. When Gladio spoke, his voice was low and reserved.

“Do you want to do it again?”

_Do I want to? Yes. Should I? Absolutely not._

Gladio’s hand came to rest on the table, turning the plate of remaining uncooked fillets, his gaze falling away from Ignis. “‘Cause I... I wouldn’t mind a repeat.”

Ignis glanced over at the other two, so engrossed in their phones around the campfire that a bomb could have gone off anywhere in their vicinity and they would never have noticed. He returned his attention to Gladio, looking him in the eye.

“Are you... proposing a sexual relationship?” Ignis glanced at Noctis and Prompto, trying not to appear too suspicious and vaguely aware how miserably he was failing at that.

Gladio made a little snort. “Usually it’s just called being ‘friends with benefits,’ but yeah, I guess on paper that’s what it is.”

“Sorry, I─”

Gladio cut him off by holding up the clean plate Ignis had pulled for the finished pieces. “You don’t have to be so clinical about it.”

Ignis sighed. It wasn’t like he _wanted_ to be─it was just how he _was,_ and Gladio should know that _._ He scooped up two of the fillets and dropped them onto the plate, Gladio setting it back down on the table.

“But, if you wanna blow off a little steam now and then, I’d be... open to it. Just, you know, real casual.” Gladio looked away again, and Ignis could see the faint hint of pink in his cheeks, nearly washed out by the orange of the firelight.

“This isn’t appropriate behavior for our situation, Gladio, not with everything─” He cut himself off as Gladio dropped his gaze back to the plates.

“I mean, you can just say no if you’re not into the idea,” he said. “I don’t need the lecture.”

Ignis bit his lip, turning back to the grill. “Then I’m...” he began, feeling regret already taking seed in his stomach before he’d even managed to get the words out, “I’m saying no.” He pushed his glasses up his face.

“Okay.”

And that was it. That was the extent of Gladio’s response, along with a tiny shrug, and then Gladio just grabbed the plate of finished fillets like nothing had happened, turning on his heel to take it over to Noctis and Prompto. The full meaning of the phrase _easy come, easy go_ hit Ignis, a twinge of sadness lingering in his ribs.

No. He wasn’t supposed to feel bad about this.

...was he?

He watched Gladio serve Noctis first, holding the plate out with a friendly smile on his face, on his big, stupid, _handsome_ face, before wheeling around to offer it to Prompto.

Ignis turned back to the grill. There was no sense regretting his decision. It was done, and logically, he had made the right call. At the end of the day, that was the only thing that mattered.

So then why did it... sting?

\---

The miles continued to fly by. They had stopped once to refill the tank, finding a rather surprising queue of cars at the pumps, more refugees out of Insomnia heading through Lucis. Gladio’s card had once again cleared, and Ignis had thanked the Six as he picked up the hose and twisted off the Regalia’s gas cap.

Noctis had read them some of the headlines off various foreign news outlets, mostly out of Accordo, with a couple from Tenebrae. The situation in Insomnia was dire any way it was framed. Ignis didn’t know how much aid was really coming in to the city; most sources claimed there were Imperial relief efforts in the wake of the conquest, but to Ignis, it reeked of nothing more than propaganda.

Gladio texted a bit with Iris, who gave them some updates on the situation in Lestallum, which had become the main destination for the refugees out of the Crown City. There were some camps setting up around the city limits, with supplies quickly dwindling, and from his tone reading them it was clear that Gladio worried deeply for his sister’s well being.

Ignis just focused on driving and on how to handle their situation when they arrived in Galdin. Undoubtedly they would need money for passage, money they didn’t have right now. While a random gas station might be willing to accept a credit card, limited tickets on passage out of the country would require tangible, liquid capital. They had a few things they could barter for─Noctis’ MP3 player, Prompto’s camera, his own watch─but it wouldn’t come anywhere close to earning them the amount they’d need for passage.

He mulled over options as they worked their way southward, the green plains giving way to a brief thatch of mountains. The temperature climbed as they began to descend, now in the final leg to the coast as they came out of the mountains, and Ignis had put the top down in the car midway through their descent. The road was two lanes on either side, winding around the sharp ridges and torrents of the mountains, an asphalt ribbon carefully snaked through them.

Ignis didn’t really notice the traffic piling up until they were slowing, falling into a uniform line behind the sedan in front of them. Ignis downshifted, straining to see down the line of cars before them, trying to discern the cause of the slowdown. They’d cleared the last of the real mountains, now stuck down on a long, low plain that ran out to the ocean, with Galdin Quay glinting in the distance.

Prompto picked up on his curiosity, unbuckling his seatbelt and standing up. He leaned his arms on the top of the windshield, pushing up onto his toes and looking from left to right.

“Looks like... a toll?”

Gladio quickly stood up behind Prompto, craning his neck to look further. “Tolls don’t usually have guys with guns.”

“Both of you need to sit _down,_ ” Ignis hissed.

Prompto dropped like his strings had been cut, but Gladio lingered a second longer.

“That’s definitely a roadblock, Iggy. Looks like they’re checking cars.”

Ignis sucked in a sharp breath. Their luck had to run out at some point, and evidently that point was _now._ He pulled his glasses off his face, folding them in his hand before holding them out to Prompto.

“Put these in the glovebox, please.”

“Sure.” Prompto tugged it open, taking Ignis’ glasses and slotting them in along the side. “Can you see without those?”

“I’m not going to go sharpshooting, but I can see well enough to roll forward and know when to stop,” Ignis clarified. “Noctis, you need to get down.” Ignis hit the button to put the roof up, the top of the trunk coming up as the roof panel slid out.

“And go where?”

“On the floor.” Ignis’ tone was stern. He didn’t need any lip from Noctis now, he needed him to trust what they told him to do.

“Okay,” Noctis said, sounding more irritated with Ignis than apprehensive with their situation. But he followed instructions, undoing the buckle on his seat belt and then slid forward, angling his legs as he dropped off the seat. Ignis heard him shuffling down so that he was laying on the floor, stuffed down behind Gladio’s, head on the floor behind the driver’s seat. _Good._

“Gladio, do you have anything back there to cover him with?” Ignis glanced above the windshield as the roof clicked into place. He hit the switches on the door, rolling the windows up.

In the back, Gladio was already shirking out of his sweatshirt. “Prompto, gimmie your bag. And your vest.”

“Y-Yeah.”

Ignis watched Gladio arrange the items over Noctis in the rearview. The sweatshirt went over Noctis’ midsection, the bag tucked up by his head and leaned back to cover him, if the amount of adjustments Gladio made to it were anything to go by. The vest was thrown to cover the last little bit that the sweater couldn’t get.

“Not a peep, now,” Glaido teased, patting the bag. Noctis made a frustrated sound that was muffled by the backpack, and Ignis looked to Gladio in the rearview.

“He’s as good as we can get,” Gladio confirmed, leaning back in his seat.

“Thank you.” Ignis shifted in his seat, pulling his wallet out of his back pocket and double checking that he had the Glaive’s ID in it. _Posca Vorenus._ Ignis committed the name to memory along with the birth date before shoving the wallet into the center console.

Ignis turned to Prompto, finding him staring wide-eyed at the soldiers wandering down the lanes. “Prompto, if they ask for your ID─”

“I didn’t grab it,” he said, still gazing out the windshield.

“But your name is?”

“Prompto... Masicus.” He finally looked at Ignis, seeking approval.

“Good.” Ignis drew in a deep breath, locking his arms and pushing back into his seat, bracing himself on the wheel. He closed his eyes for a moment, steeling himself, and then looked up, rolling the Regalia forward. They only had a few more vehicles in front of them, and now Ignis could make out the blurred shapes of Imperial patrolmen, armed with heavy rifles, walking up and down the double line of cars. Beyond them, placed about the concrete barriers that served as the actual roadblock, stood a scattering of taller, broader figures, clad in full black carbon fiber plate. Their helmets were full faced, solid black, no visors, no openings whatsoever, and they held eerily still, no idle movements whatsoever.

 _MTs,_ Ignis realized. The mechanized infantry of the Empire.

He’d never seen them in person, only in photographs usually stapled to intelligence reports, occasionally in articles online (but those he often doubted the credibility of).

Ignis continued rolling forward, keeping his attentions focused on the brake lights in front of him. He saw one of the footsoldiers approach, beelining for the driver’s side window, and Ignis hit the switch to roll down the window before he had a chance to knock. The soldier wore an open-faced helmet and black plate armor, a pistol tucked at his belt, and a heavy, powerful-looking rifle slung over his right shoulder. Just the sight of the gun was enough to make Ignis’ heart race a little.

What did one say to an enforcer of a conquering army? _Afternoon? How’s the occupying going today?_

“Identification, sir,” the soldier said, leaning down towards the window.

“Certainly.” Ignis reached for his wallet, flipping it open and thumbing the ID card out. He held it up to the soldier, who snatched it and straightened up.

“Destination?”

“Down to... Galdin Quay.”

The soldier was silent, surveying Ignis’ procured ID for a moment. “You’ve got a funny accent for a Lucian.”

“My parents were from Tenebrae.”

A snort. Ignis swallowed.

“And who’s with you?”

“Two friends.”

The soldier peered into the back. Ignis watched Gladio give a nod of acknowledgement in the rearview, and Prompto leaned forward slightly. The soldier looked from one to the other, a slight frown on his face, and then he reached up and handed the ID back to Ignis.

“Open the trunk.”

Ignis hit the trunk release, and the soldier stepped around to the rear. Clanking and rustling followed as their carefully packed supplies were no doubt rifled through, but Ignis was confident there was nothing incriminating in that stack, even though his heart was pounding in his ears. His hands felt sweaty on the wheel and Ignis renewed his grip, knuckles blanching.

After a long, agonizing minute, the trunk slammed shut and the footsoldier reapproached the window. “You’re good to go.” He gestured forward, pointing down the road, and Ignis nodded.

“Thank you.”

Mechanically, Ignis took his foot off the brake, letting the car roll forward in first, and then carefully found the gas and applied it smoothly. _Watch the RPMs..._ Ignis kept his gaze on the road, stealing glances at those MTs as they drew up to them. He briefly checked the tachometer as the needle hopped just over 5000 RPMs, pulling in the shifter to upshift into second as they passed the cement dividers.

He kept going, smoothly accelerating, and the moment he tapped to put the car in third, Ignis glanced at Gladio in the rearview. They were a decent quarter mile or so from the roadblock now, long enough to be out of sight and therefore out of danger.

“We’re clear,” he said, and he heard Noctis breathe a long sigh of relief on the floor, echoing .

A second later Noctis’ head popped up in his rearview, shaking himself out as he climbed back into his seat. “Well, that was fun.”

“The fun’s only getting started,” Gladio commented.

In the passenger seat, Prompto opened the glove box, pulling out Ignis’ glasses and flicking them open before handing them over.

“Thank you,” Ignis said, settling them on his face. He blinked, adjusting to the sharpness.

With his world clear once more, Ignis shifted into fourth, speeding on to their destination.

\---

“When it rains, it pours.”

Gladio shifted, resting his hands on his hips, arms akimbo as he stood before the notice at the port. Ignis pushed his glasses up, leaning in slightly to get a better look at the notice board. Above them, a few seagulls were circling, crying loudly as the sun beat down on them.

They’d made it into Galdin an hour later, and after they’d secured someplace to leave the Regalia they’d stormed down the wharf to the ticketing counter.

“Three ships a day,” Noctis said. “And only one is going out to Altissa.”

“We’re going to need a miracle to get on one of those,” Ignis commented.

“Or a boatload of money,” Prompto chimed in. “Heh. Boatload.” He laughed nervously at his own pun, and Gladio humored him with a chuckle.

“Guess we’d better start saving,” Gladio said, “or start tying some logs together.”

Ignis sighed. “Do you still have that flyer from the motel, Gladio? The hunting one?”

“Yeah.” Gladio shuffled around, reaching into his back pocket to pull out the folded sheet of paper. He handed it to Ignis, who flipped it open and unfolded it. Blinking in the harsh sunlight, he quickly skimmed over the sheet.

“What’re you thinking?” Noctis asked, brushing some of his bangs out of his face.

“The bounty on this is rather high,” Ignis admitted. “We may want to turn back to take on a few of these bounties for some ticket fare.”

“Yeah, but how long can we just keep wandering around here?” Noctis said, gesturing around the pier. “We need to be in Accordo like... now.”

“With no means to afford passage to get there, I fail to see how we can make that happen,” Ignis said stiffly. “Any delay to secure funds would be a necessary one.”

Noctis sighed, his shoulders heaving. “You’re right. I guess we turn back for now.” He tipped his head back in frustration, eyes closed, a frown tugging the corners of his mouth down.

“Hey, we’ll get you there,” Gladio said, nudging Noctis at the shoulder. “It’s what you pay us for.”

“Is this the part where I say, ‘I don’t pay you,’ and then you guys all dump me here?” Noctis said, and Ignis chuckled sharply at the joke.

“Because there’s no way we’re doing this out of the kindness of our hearts?” Prompto replied snarkily. Gladio’s face split into a wide grin.

“Yeah, we all know that─” Noctis abruptly fell silent, grabbing his pocket like it had burned him. He shoved his hand inside, fishing for something, and yanked out his phone a second later. He stared at the screen, eyes narrowing in confusion. “Who is... Libertus Ostium?”

Gladio tilted his head. “He’s in the Glaive. Why?”

“‘Cause he’s calling me.” Noctis blinked, and then swiped his thumb over his screen, pressing his phone to his ear and turning away from the others. “H’lo?”

Ignis looked to Gladio in the ensuing silence, and Gladio shrugged. “Maybe he got separated and doesn’t know─”

“Luna?” Noctis snapped, and Gladio instantly fell silent. “Holy shi...” He trailed off, whipping around to face them once more, his face blank with shock.

“It’s... Luna.”


	5. Luna

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'I'm not dead yet!'
> 
> Major canon deviations begin in this chapter.

Leide was such an empty place.

Luna shifted against the car door, settling her head against her arm pillowed along the window. Outside, the desert stretched for miles, and even though she consciously knew the car was moving quite fast, it felt as though they were just a snail crawling along an endless expanse.

Behind them, somewhere below the horizon that they were inching away from, lay the smoking ruins of Insomnia, a pile of shattered glass and twisted rebar that Luna had been lucky to emerge from at all, let alone as unscathed as she had. Beside her, currently driving and preoccupied with staring out the windshield at the stretches of beige and gold around them, was a Glaive she knew only as Libertus, a somewhat portly man but seemingly capable enough.

They hadn’t spoken much, just bits here and there, both too shaken by what they were leaving behind to really be up for any sort of conversation. Luna knew that if she let her mind wander, if she closed her eyes and stopped focusing on each passing scrub and shrub and tree, those memories would quickly seep back in, ones steeped in fire and blood and death.

She blinked, catching her reflection in the mirror, looking up at her face. Smudged with dirt and ash, a cut at her temple where she’d fallen, her hair disheveled, sticking out in odd tufts from her ruined updo, she was hardly the neat and feminine picture she had been when she’d first set foot in Insomnia. Regardless, she knew she was incredibly lucky to have come out of it all in as good shape as she was─the cut would heal, the dirt could be washed away, her hair could be restyled.

There wasn’t anything that could be done for thousands in the city, however.

Luna sighed, trying to remember when the last time she’d been allowed to ride in the passenger seat of a car had been. It had to be years at this point; she’d had a driver for her teenage years and beyond, always confined to the back seat, as if a celebrity, in reality a prisoner. She had a distinct memory of Ravus taking her once, when she’d been about fourteen or so, a handful of years behind him as he stood on the cusp of adulthood. They’d surreptitiously borrowed one of the cars from the estate garage late one evening, sneaking past the servants and the handful of guards staffing Fenestela, and driven off at night, down deserted roads in the dead of night, Luna silently watching the moonlit fields with wide eyes as Ravus smiled beside her.

_Ravus._

She sighed at the thought of her brother. Was he dead with the rest of them, a casualty of the invasion even though he’d been on the provocater’s side? Had he known of this, had foreknowledge he kept from her, no doubt citing his worries over her ‘safety’? Luna’s head spun thinking of him, of picturing him either dead amidst the rubble and other broken things of Insomnia, or reveling with the victorious orchestrators of the invasion, toasting to their garish handiwork.

Neither possibility was one that Luna even remotely wanted, but she didn’t envision a third.

A flurry of signs whipped by, the only sign of civilization she’d seen for the better part of an hour. Beside her, Libertus said something, and Luna just hummed her agreement; it wasn’t like she had any real say in the matters of where they went or how fast. Though her title was _Oracle,_ it was little more than that; even Luna knew that in reality was just a sheltered girl in her mid twenties, deliberately kept ignorant as to the affairs of the world to make her easier to manipulate. Oracle may have only been a title, but it was a valuable one, as she still a great deal of influence through her birthright, something the Empire had sought to control.

On some days, her status infuriated her, on others, it was met with a resigned sigh. Ravus had played his hand through the military, though he had not been born with any such title. In a way, she supposed, it had made things easier for him, though he had always been cast aside for it, seen as the ‘useless’ Nox Fleuret for his sex.

She, however, had been placed on a pedestal for her title and the supposed powers inherent to it (though Luna had seen no such manifestation in herself). She’d been treated as a revered, holy figure, just as her mother had been, even though Luna herself didn’t really even believe in the Six, let alone the pomp and circuitry around them.

Luna briefly shut her eyes, feeling the exhaustion in her bones. For a moment, time seemed not to stop but to not _exist,_ and Luna could only be found in the black void of her thoughts. She knew where and when she was, in reality, vague notions at the back of her mind, ones refreshed when Luna pried her eyes open for a brief second. And then she closed them again, tumbling down into the black void as exhaustion threw chains around her and pulled her in.

_Fire, acrid smoke. Shattered glass falling like snow._

_Luna runs. The heel of one shoe snaps. She keeps running, pulled along by the Glaive─Ulfric? Ulric? Ulric. He looks back at her, urges her along as they run through the hallways of the building. Luna tries to keep up, even with her broken shoe._

_She can feel the ring in her pocket, zipped in tight. It radiates heat, power, even through several layers of fabric, the kind of old magic that Luna has only felt on rare occasions, the kind briefly pushes her doubts of the reality of the Astrals, of the divinity of her line, of the power of the Lucian line from her mind._

_Glass showers down on them, and Luna trips, falling, falling as Nyx grabs for her, tumbling until--_

She jerked awake in the passenger seat, trying to contain her flinch. Outside was still the desert, it was still day, and she could hear Libertus beside her, meaning they were hundreds of miles from Insomnia and from all the fires and shattered glass and crumbling remains.

The images were still fresh in her mind. Nyx had come for her where she’d been put up, under both Imperial and Lucian guard, just as the rumbling had begun outside. He’d disentangled her from the guards, cut a path through for them, and taken her to the Citadel, to Regis himself, a man Luna hadn’t really seen in fifteen years.

And one she’d never see again.

Dying, mortally wounded on the floor with his Shield motionless nearby, Regis had passed the ring to her and Nyx, telling them to find Noctis. Luna had barely heard his words─she’d felt detached from her own body. How could a sheltered young woman as herself, a political puppet notwithstanding, be pulled into this? This was how all of the epic poems and legends she’d been forced to read in school began, a hero thrust onto a journey with impossible odds against him.

But she’d taken the ring, secreted it away, and followed Nyx, wondering how her ballad would open.

\---

They stopped as the afternoon waned.

Luna was grateful for the break, eager to get out and stretch her legs and look at something that wasn’t endless dry dirt with mountains perpetually at the horizon. It was just a small rest stop, a gas station and a convenience store and a lone restaurant, but to Luna it was a carnival of delights. She scarcely heard anything Libertus said to her, too focused on surveying everything as they pulled in, from the neon sign in the diner window to the racks upon racks arranged in the convenience store.

The moment the car stopped moving she bolted, weaving through the parking lot as Libertus shouted something about the diner after her. She’d find him later, of course, but for now, she just wanted a chance to be off her leash, to wander as she pleased, to be away from everything that so reminded her of the ordeal she’d left behind in Insomnia.

Carefully, she meandered amidst the cars, out to the open stretch of the parking lot, and then walked the edge near the fence that separated the strip from the harshness of the desert, a thin chain-link barrier between civilization and desolation. Luna reached the edge of the strip, stopping near a cluster of three boulders, one massive, the other significantly smaller. With a little bit of maneuvering, she managed to climb up onto the tiniest of the three, sitting and staring out east, to where blues and purples bubbled up on the horizon. Below that line lay Insomnia, where sun had undoubtedly already set in more ways that one.

Sighing, she looked to her broken shoe, the heel snapped clean off, and reasoned that she should get new ones before moving on, wondering about the feasibility of doing so here. Her knee was scraped and bruised, but not badly enough to need a bandage, though she needed to take a look at the cut on her face.

Luna ran her finger under the top strap of her shoe, soothing her chafed skin for a moment before she set her leg back down on the rock, picking her head up to look down the road once more. Something caught her eye to the left, away from the street beside her, and Luna turned her head to look.

It was a woman, dressed in black, a beautiful silk shawl pulled around her shoulders. Her dress was ornate, the same black silk with white and gold embroidery, a white sash around her midsection just below her bust. Her hair was long, bangs cut above her eyebrows, the rest pulled back into a series of braids that draped down her back.

Luna hadn’t seen this woman in more than fifteen years.

Her recollection of the woman before her felt almost _made up,_ and Luna had chalked it up to just that, the fanciful imaginary friend of a lonely girl trapped in a tower, now a faded memory of some childhood fancy. She hadn’t thought on Gentiana in years, hadn’t needed her comfort, or the comfort of the _idea_ of her, in years, hadn’t desired her company nor companionship in just as long, yet now here she was, at the lowest Luna had ever been.

 _Is this a sign of madness?_ Luna wondered, straightening up slightly on her rock. Gentiana turned towards her, and Luna went perfectly still, as if trying to hide from a coerl.

“Not madness,” she said, and Luna tensed, “but fate.”

“You’re not real,” Luna countered, looking back to the sunset.

“A girl does not believe?” Gentiana pressed. “I am very real, as real as the rock beneath your feet or the stars that dot the sky.”

Luna shook her head. “You’re an imaginary friend I made up when I was six years old and terribly lonely,” she replied.

“Not imaginary.” Gentiana folded her hands in front of her. “Just a Messenger.”

Luna gave her a hard once-over. She knew of the Messengers, had read the stories of the Cosmology front to back and back to front and sideways, but that’s all they were, _stories,_ ones made up to keep followers in line. Irritated, both with herself and the situation at large, Luna tore her gaze away, looking back out to the horizon. If she kept her gaze there long enough, maybe this would all disappear, just like Gentiana, all reveal itself to be nothing more than a terrible dream.

But after a long minute, she could still sense Gentiana beside her, could still see her in her periphery, and Luna finally turned to her, brows drawn in frustration.

“What do you want, then?” she snapped. “To stand there and taunt me?”

Gentiana drew her chin slightly in towards her chest. “I desire only to speak with the Oracle on behalf of the Astrals, as is custom.”

Luna looked at her dead on. “To speak with me? The Oracle?” she said, voice flat with disbelief.

Gentiana nodded. “You are the chosen of your kind.”

“I don’t believe this,” Luna muttered, shaking her head slightly side to side as she pushed herself off the rock, stumbling slightly as she balanced herself with her broken shoe.

“You would turn your back on your destiny? On the Astrals who govern all?”

Luna said nothing, instead taking a few steps towards the strip mall.

“You would turn your back on your _King?_ ”

She stopped and froze, turning just a hair as Gentiana approached her once more.

“Regis is dead,” Luna said bitterly, feeling the Ring surge in her pocket. “I watched him die. Where were you Messengers and Astrals when he was murdered? When Insomnia was massacred?”

“Our hands cannot steer the fates of so many so quickly.”

Luna pursed her lips as she considered this. “Then I suppose one more won’t matter.”

She continued shuffling off, getting a few steps away before Gentiana called out again.

“Noctis yet lives.”

Luna stopped.

“He seeks to reclaim his throne,” she continued, “but he will need your aid to do so.”

“He needs the Ring, I know,” Luna commented, gripping her pocket.

“And the will of the Astrals.” Gentiana drew beside her once more. “To take back a kingdom from foreign hands, to reclaim the Crystal and see Insomnia restored... is a heavy task for a mortal man with no army at his back. And without the Ring of the Lucii upon the King’s hand, the Scourge will grow unfettered, will spread darkness and death across the earth.”

Luna looked up as Gentiana paused.

“The King and the Oracle have always served shoulder to shoulder for the people,” she continued, “but as the Astrals slumber man has forgotten these old things. The Ring channels the Crystal, grants the line of Lucis magic the like of which has never been seen in this world before it, and gifts powers to the Oracle’s bloodline.”

Luna raised a brow as Gentiana faced her, placed her arms on Luna’s shoulders, a chill running through her at the touch. She swallowed as Gentiana’s touch moved down, grasping Luna’s wrists to take her hands, and Luna had to fight not to pull back for a moment. Gentiana’s touch was warm, sharp almost like a static shock, bordering on painful as she trailed her fingertips over Luna’s hands.

“The King may stem the Scourge,” she said, “but only the Oracle may cure it, the way she cures other wounds.”

The shock intensified, sending shooting tingles up Luna’s arms, icy and electric, and Luna felt something odd stir within her ribs, a creature long dormant stirring from its slumber. Though foreign, it didn’t feel bad, or harmful, and a second later there was warmth ebbing from Luna’s chest to chase away the cold touch from Gentiana.

Gentiana released Luna’s hands, Luna dropping her gaze to look down at them. “Seek your King,” Gentiana said, “and together find Titan where he rests beneath the Disc.”  

Luna looked up to respond, but Gentiana was gone, simply vanished, and all that stood before Luna was the long road.

\---

“Where are we going from here?”

The question caught Libertus off guard, Luna noted, from the way he tensed slightly, to how he stopped chewing for a moment, just holding his sandwich in the wax paper. His brow furrowed, and he straightened up slightly from where they sat on the curb, devouring the prepackaged sandwiches they’d bought at the convenience store in the strip, the best of what they had available.

“Meldacio,” he stated. “To find the other glaives and the Marshal.”

“We’re not going to find Noctis?” Luna asked as she peeled back more of the wax paper around her sandwich before taking a small bite.

“Nobody knows if Noctis is even alive,” Libertus said, and there was a strange sort of bitterness to his voice, not as if he were upset that Noctis were dead, but more irritated with the possibility he might be _alive._

After a second he sighed, clutched his sandwich a little tighter, and looked to Luna. “Sorry. Just... I know Cor’s out there. I don’t know if Noctis is. So we’re going to the Marshal.”

“And what then?”

“I would think Cor will send you back to Tenebrae,” Libertus admitted. “Certainly wouldn’t want to be responsible for the Oracle in the middle of an occupation.”

“That’s handing me over to the Empire,” Luna said quietly.

“I wouldn’t really say that,” Libertus drawled. “Tenebrae is--”

“A puppet state,” Luna finished. Libertus fell silent.

“I don’t think the Marshal’s going to want you to stay out here,” Libertus said, “and if he did, we’d have to take you somewhere really secure until this is all... settled.”

“I know.” Luna looked out to the parking lot with a tepid sigh.

Libertus chucked sadly. “It’s just, y’know, the end of the world.”

“Do you really think that?” Luna asked, not accusingly, but with genuine curiosity coloring her voice.

Sighing, Libertus shrugged, looking down at the asphalt before him. “Dunno just yet. Not the first time I’ve been caught up on the wrong side of something like this.” He looked to Luna briefly. “Guess we both figured it wouldn’t happen a second time.”

Silence settled over them for a brief minute, terse and uncomfortable. It was a reminder that they’d been brought together by mere circumstance, a case of ‘right time right place’ if there ever was one. Eventually Libertus stood, stretching out his arms before he looked down to Luna.

“I’ll be right back; gonna grab a few more things,” he said, gesturing to the store. “Then I think we should be off, yeah?”

“Sure,” Luna said, brushing a piece of hair out of her face. She looked down at the little bit of trash between them, balling up the wax paper and putting it into one of the bags, until she looked back at the curb, reaching for the second piece.

The keys were there.

Maybe they’d fallen from Libertus’ pocket by accident, or maybe he’d left them there, but for whatever reason, as fate would have it, the keys were sitting right next to her.

Luna squeezed the bag a little tighter in her fingers. She shouldn’t be tempted by the possibility; she really shouldn’t. She was young, essentially helpless in a world that was slipping into chaos; she should stay at Libertus’ side until he got her to the Marshal.

_She should stay in her cage and let others decide her fate, like she’d always done._

Luna set the bag down and carefully reached for the keys, looping the keyring around her index finger. They were light little metal and plastic things, a car key and a tag, but in Luna’s hand they felt heavy, pulled down by the weight of the decision before her.

But she only had a minute. Libertus would no doubt be back soon, and her window would have passed. Who knew if she would get a second one?

Staring at the keys, Luna wished she could peer into the future, look at the how both paths unwound from this moment, this choice, but the Oracle had never quite been blessed with foresight in such a fashion. If she wanted to walk either path, she would do it blind.

Heart bouncing around her chest, Luna gripped the keys tighter, and stood.

\---

Driving seemed to be harder than it looked.

In her life, Luna had had maybe fifteen minutes of experience behind the wheel of anything, and that had just been with a very panicked Ravus beside her going at a snail’s pace on the drive to the estate. As she slid into the driver’s seat, it was like climbing into the cockpit of some impossibly advanced alien device, gauges and dials and pedals and switches all around her, a large screen planted in the center of the dash drawing her attention.

The first thing she did was find the lock.

Doors snugly bolted, Luna looked for the ignition, waving the key around the underside of the wheel as she looked for the ignition slot and found nothing. Frowning, she looked at at the keys; the key definitely had a metal strip, so where was the ignition?

From the corner of her eye she caught the ‘Autostart’ button on the dash, staring at it as she sucked in a small breath.

Firmly, Luna reached over and pressed it, the car roaring to life around her. The entire dash lit up like a city after dark, the engine thrumming loudly and vibrating the whole car, and Luna steeled herself, trying to take stock of it all. For the first time, she picked her gaze up and looked _out_ the windshield rather than getting caught up with the dash, and suddenly, with the engine rumbling in her ears, Luna realized she had _no_ idea where to even go. Libertus knew the roads, and at least had some semblance of a destination; Luna had nothing but a desire and a yearning.

For a long moment, staring out at the parking lot and the road beyond it, Luna thought about turning the car off, returning to Libertus and making up some excuse. If she did it now, it wouldn’t be terribly suspicious, provided Libertus hadn’t seen the car running, and--

And then she remembered Regis, remembered running through the Citadel as it crumbled around her, driving through a hail of gunfire and shattered glass.

She could figure out a map and follow signs, she’d find out where Noctis was and manage to get herself there.

Trying to remember every time she’d seen someone drive in her life, Luna pushed down on the brake pedal, gripping the gearshift with her right hand. The car was an automatic, thank the powers that be, and she carefully pulled it back all the way to drive. Instantly the brake tensed,  the engine engaged, and Luna’s heart leapt into her throat at the realization of the real power in this car.

Firmly gripping the wheel, Luna took her foot off the brake, and the car lurched forward, crawling across the pavement. She swallowed thickly, angling her foot above the gas pedal, awkward with the broken heel, and then pressed down, the car jolting, bucking like a colt, and Luna gripped the wheel with renewed ferocity, her foot instantly pulling back off the gas.

_Easy, then._

Relaxing her shoulders, Luna pushed down with her toes, and the car jerked again, before she eased off a hair and then, finally, the car smoothly rolled forward, accelerating under her command. Nodding to herself, inwardly swelling with pride that she was _doing_ this of her own accord, Luna focused on the road just beyond the lot, carefully depressing the pedal to creep towards the road.

 _And then where will you go?_ she thought, a little cynically.

_I’ll pick a direction._

She reached the end of the lot in a matter of moments, braking to come to a stop at the edge of the lot, and then the road stretched out before her in either direction. She knew where they’d come from, could see it trailing off back east, and Luna set her sights west, to new horizons.

In the rearview, Luna could see Libertus rushing through the parking lot, in a jog, and she drew in a sharp breath. Taking her foot off the brake once more, she pushed down on the gas, making a stuttering, uneven turn out into the road as she struggled to control the car. Once she was back on track, in the correct lane with her speed leveled off, Luna eased down on the accelerator, feeling the car surge beneath her.

Luna glanced in her rearview once more, watching the town creep towards the horizon as she sped to the beyond.

\---

For a few hours, everything was smooth.

Luna kept driving, foot on the accelerator, posture rigid for quite some time. For a while, the novelty of her escape was enough to sustain her, fueling her to continue on mile after mile, wondering where she would go and just what she would find there. She occasionally saw another car on the road─one would sometimes come up behind her, trailing for a bit until they reached her and inevitably passed, but a few times Luna crept up on one, riding behind them for a bit until she worked up the courage to pass.

Eventually, though, the silence dragged on, a breeding ground for the dark thoughts Luna had been trying to keep at bay. The fears that she didn’t know what she was doing, that she was setting herself up for failure running off like this, would end up hurt or back in the Empire’s hands or _worse_ swarmed her mind, stinging her like wasps. She thought of Regis and Clarus, thought of the Ring in her pocket and how much rode on it, thought on Noctis and whether or not he were even still _alive._ She thought of Libertus, briefly, thought of Ulric and what he’d done, and then thought of Ravus─

She could almost hear Ravus beside her, at first nitpicking everything she was doing, telling her to check her mirrors, to watch her speed, to the silence before he’d give her a compliment (well intentioned but usually poorly worded), and maybe, maybe if she were lucky, he’d tease her about her posture, about her ‘lead foot’, or maybe about her nervous over the shoulder checks, joke as only she could get him to do.

But he was dead. Just like Regis and Clarus, just like Ulric, just like Noctis no doubt was.

And here she was, stealing a car and driving away on her own whims like a─

Luna took her foot off the gas and coasted to a stop, pulling the car onto the gravel shoulder. There was no one around for miles, not that she could see, and Luna popped the door open the moment the engine had gone silent, stumbling out of the car. She’d forgotten about her broken heel, instantly tripping as her feet hit the rocky shoulder, and she fell to her knees for a brief second.

Kneeling there, sitting outside this stupid car, this stupid car that she’d _stolen,_ Luna didn’t have the strength to fight off the first sob as it hit her. She made an ugly sound, tears filling her eyes as she picked her head up and scanned the horizon. A torrent of emotions hit her, like a river swollen with the first rainwater of the season, soaking cracked, unfeeling earth and washing away her thoughts. She cried until she had no tears left, until her eyes were tender and red rimmed, her throat swollen and heavy, the sun slowly inching towards the horizon in the distance.

And then she sat in silence, staring at the expanse before her, listening to the wind whip around the car and rustle the scrubs out in the desert. She felt nothing now, the creek bed dry as it had been before, empty and desolate.

Luna didn’t even look over as Gentiana knelt beside her, the gravel shifting softly. “A girl has taken the first steps on a journey of a thousand leagues,” she said quietly as the wind rustled her hair and her sashes. Luna pushed a blonde lock out of her own face, sniffing loudly.

“A girl doesn’t know where she’s going,” Luna said, her voice still wet, “or what to do, and I think a girl’s made a terrible mistake.”

“There are no mistakes, only different paths,” Gentiana replied. Luna picked up her had to look at her, but as she turned, Gentiana disappeared from view, as if she’d never been there at all.

Maybe she hadn’t been. Maybe it was just an illusion, and maybe Luna was still losing her mind.

Sighing, she picked herself up and turned back to the car.

\---

Luna continued driving on into the afternoon, well aware that she’d have to find some kind of civilization to stop at for the night. Driving alone on these roads after dark would be a death wish with what lurked under cover of darkness; even Libertus had refused to press on after the sun had gone fully down. She needed gas, too; the needle was creeping lower and lower, hovering just above a quarter tank now, and Luna had been quietly mulling over ways to get money for gas as she kept driving.

She was absorbed in her thoughts when the screen in the divider console suddenly lit up, brightly, a number flashing onscreen above a series of dots that cycled in size, growing from smaller to larger. Luna flinched, startled, but kept her hands on the wheel as she divided her attentions between keeping her eyes (and car) on the road, and investigating the screen.

There were two smaller icons on the screen, one a green box with an upwards facing telephone receiver on it, the other a red box with a downwards facing receiver. Accept and Decline, Luna knew; though she’d never been allowed one herself, she’d seen enough cell phones to figure that one out.

Reaching over, Luna firmly tapped the Decline button, lips pressed into a pout. She replaced her hand on the wheel, and the screen changed, now showing a long list of names. _Contacts,_ she realized, like in an address book. She’d seen Libertus toy around with his phone when they’d stopped the first time, connecting it somehow to the car before he’d put the phone in the glove box. He must’ve left it there when they stopped to eat, and Luna had driven off with it safely tucked away.

Curious, Luna tapped through the list, still careful to keep focused on the road before her, but stealing glances down at the contacts. She didn’t recognize any of the names, scrolling and scrolling, until she stopped at one that just said ‘Fishing Buddy.’

Luna snorted at that, and then, curious, wondering just _who_ Libertus thought was his ‘Fishing Buddy’, she tapped the name. The screen changed, now showing more information─a number, an address, and... a picture.

Under a goofy hat, in a puffy vest and T-shirt, fishing rod in one hand and a fairly large green fish of some kind in the other, the young man in the picture was undoubtedly Noctis. His features were the same as the boy she’d known a decade ago, squarer, older now, none of that baby-fat on his face, but the same shape to his eyes, his nose, his brow.

The picture and the flood of memories it stirred up almost made Luna pull the car over again, but instead her gut response was to hit the little green button with the receiver on it. This was Noctis’ number, if Noctis were alive maybe he would answer, maybe fate would give Luna a bit of a break and connect them in the wake of all this mess.

She watched the dots on the screen again, and then jumped slightly at the sound of ringing from the speakers in the door. She hadn’t realized that the call would run through the audio system, but then again, she hadn’t really been thinking about it. Gripping the wheel a little tighter, Luna focused on keeping her speed even, trying to ignore how her heart was suddenly racing, her pulse thundering in her ears.

The phone rang three times before it cut out, and Luna’s hopes sank for a long second, until a muffled “H’lo?” emanated from the door speaker.

It was Noctis.

Just like the photo, it was his voice, deeper now, but with the same lilt and pitch he’d always had. Shocked, she blinked a few times, trying to force a greeting out of herself as the silence dragged on for a few agonizing seconds?

_He’s real, he’s alive, not all is lost, there’s still hope so long as he’s alive─_

“Noctis?” she managed to choke out.

More silence. Luna counted her heartbeats, her vision swimming.

“Luna?”

“Noctis, it’s me,” she said in a rush, a wave of relief sweeping over her. “I’m so glad you’re alive. I’m so─”

“Holy shit,” Noctis said, and Luna had to chuckle nervously at that, Noctis joining her briefly. Another beat of silence followed, Luna filled with a mixture of hope and sudden anxiety.

“Luna, where are you?” Noctis said, and she could hear the concern and confusion in his voice. “Are you okay?”

“I’m all right,” she blurted, ready to laugh. “I’m driving. I... I stole a car.”

“You─”

“It’s a long story,” she replied, cutting him off.

“Where are you going?”

“I─” Luna broke off. Really, she had no idea where she _was_ going, aside from ‘west’. But there was a sign coming up, one she could see a few hundred yards out, with white writing on a green background. Squinting, Luna focused on the letters for a few tenuous seconds, until they cleared enough and she could read the destinations marked on it.

_Lestallum. Meldacio. Old Lestallum._

“Lestallum,” she said. “I’m going to Lestallum.” It felt right to say that, to choose that as her goal, and a moment later Gentiana’s words about Titan and the Disc drifted up in her memory.

“Lestallum,” Noctis replied. “Okay.” He sounded distracted, lost in thought, and Luna wondered if she’d said the wrong thing, but a moment later he added, “We’ll meet you there.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Noctis paused for a second. “It’ll take us a day to drive up but we’ll meet you there. When we get there I’ll call you again, okay?”

“Sure,” Luna said, nodding, fully aware that Noctis couldn’t see her, doing so more to reassure herself of their plan. “I’ll be there.”

“Stay safe, okay?”

“I will,” she said. “And you, too. Promise me.”

“I’m covered,” Noctis said, punctuating his sentence with a light laugh. “I promise.”

There was a long silence between them, lasting a few solid moments, and then Noctis sucked in a short breath on the other end of the line.

“I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Of course.” Luna couldn’t keep the smile of relief off her face.

“I, um...” Noctis paused again. “Bye.”

“Goodbye, Noctis.”

The screen on the console flashed again, displaying the list once more, their call ended, a minute long connection after ten years of essential silence severed. Luna felt suddenly exhausted and drained, yet beneath it all she was renewed, reenergized, her destination on the horizon.

She renewed her grip on the wheel and pushed down on the gas, watching her speedometer climb as she barreled down the road to Lestallum.


End file.
